Before the Vineyard (M)
by RuthieGreen
Summary: 1904 - William and Julia take a bicycle trip to talk about adoption and encounter a murder. Re-write of the non-M version.
1. Chapter 1

**Dear Reader: I have re-worked my initial story for this "M" version, taking editing suggestions from my several correspondents on the counterpoint between the mystery plot and the relationship dynamics, hoping to get the balance "right" for a stronger story. I have never done a re-write before, so that is the "new" thing I am doing with this story, as I always try to do at least one thing I have never done before, each time I write.**

 **If you have read the other version (or are willing to), I am searching for feedback on my re-write-editing process—is this a better story- and if yes or no, what made it so in your opinion? Inquiring minds want to know. I only get better with your help, for which I am endlessly grateful-rg**

 **A/N: Suspension of disbelief required if you are familiar with the Niagara Peninsula or Canadian court systems (and probably cycling too.) For this story I have the same three confessions:**

 **1) I am guilty of plagiarism—I stole this plot, a character name in** _ **homage**_ **, and pieces of dialogue from a 1916 short story by Melville Davisson Post, and adapted it with a twist for W & J; **

**2) For purposes of the story, I have also committed assault and probably murder on the circa 1900 Canadian judicial system and;**

 **3) Ditto for a very nice area of the Niagara Peninsula. Sorry, neighbors. My excuse is: "The Story Made Me Do It."**

 **# # #**

 _ **Before the Vineyards**_

 **-Chapter 1-**

 **Monday**

"Julia! Honestly, what has gotten into you?" William Murdoch was trying very hard to project a stern image, but watching his wife giggle and romp with delight only made him feel even sillier and want to join her in the dark water - considering resisting her usually took all his resources anyway. The day had been hot with glorious sun beating down on them riding east across the long flat plain of land skirting Lake Ontario from Hamilton (where they had a fine picnic luncheon by a lovely waterfall), to their current location outside of Grimsby. The terrain was perfect for riding, their route weaving inland and the back along the beach through agricultural lands, past the occasional hamlet. The pair could have made the forty or so total miles to Port Dalhousie (which had been their original plan) but instead were intrigued by the possibility of hearing an evening lecture by Mr. Thomas Troward on comparative religions, offered at the Grimsby Park and Beach Chautauqua Methodist Campground. Unfortunately the speaker cancelled at the last minute, leaving William and his wife with nothing to do and insufficient time to get to their intended destination, and nowhere to lodge.

A small campfire sheltered between two clumps of trees along the sand was the only illumination along this stretch of lakeshore. Accompanied by a slight southerly breath of air, it remained warm even at such a late hour. There was no moon and the stars were obscured by high thick clouds, so for light William fed small pieces of driftwood to the flames. Propped up against one of the boles was their tandem bicycle and its trailer, where William had devised a canopy for shelter with the intention of sleeping there for the night, at Julia's insistence.

" _It's an adventure, William!"_ she had said, " _ever so much better than the last time I spent a night out in the open, which was alone and without you in the_ _cold_ _."_ He could not deny that the harrowing experience Julia endured rescuing him from God-knows-what-end the sick mind of Eva Pearce was envisioning, deserved an accommodation on his part. _So, camp out they would_. Behind them to the south at 60-plus meters high, left over from the last ice age, the Niagara Escarpment loomed over Grimsby with Lake Ontario stretching north, its soft waves barely moving. Dinner had been a mean affair of bread and cheese leftover from their lunch; however they were so hungry from cycling the food quality did not matter. William even purchased the last offerings from two street vendors and was seriously contemplating finding a cottage to beg a handout, as he had become suddenly ravenous.

"William! Come join me!" Julia beckoned from the water's edge where she was twirling and splashing, her long pale bare legs contrasting with the inky darkness, and the glow from a lit cigarette in her hand making fascinating, lingering patterns on his retinas. "The water is refreshing. I am thinking of just taking this whole cycling costume off and finding my one for swimming. We did pack it, did we not?" she laughed and trudged out of the water and over to where William was sitting on a blanket, and handed him the short, thin cigarette.

That bathing costume, which had been a seemingly endless source of conflict while planning their trip (along with the rest of the luggage strapped to their small trailer), now appeared to be a good idea to her husband, who considered pulling swimming gear for both of them out of a duffel secured with rubber straps to the trailer basket. He took another pull on the cigarette before passing back it over to Julia as she sat beside him, letting a harsh rush of air into lungs unfamiliar with the practice, yet enjoying the pleasant euphoria produced by the smoke.

The smoking materials had been another source of brief friction between them as well. Ruby had mailed them to Julia with a short note, extolling the virtues of several vices, including this one. William disliked being in the presence of smoking of any kind, let alone partake; Julia who generally concurred with him, avoided tobacco if at all possible. However excitement about trying something _new_ , with some suggestion her sister made about the effects of indulging for non-medicinal purposes, outweighed Julia's objections on this occasion. _He_ had no idea she was going to bring it on this trip. Originally, William tried to generously refuse so that Julia could enjoy it all herself, but his wife insisted that it was best done as a shared experience. _And Julia does love her experiences,_ he grinned. He had told himself he would politely bear it as an experiment to satisfy curiosity.

He exhaled. _An_ o _ther good idea after all,_ he thought while examining the novel effect firelight was currently having on his wife's curls. He still did not enjoy the action on his lungs and windpipe, but the mind-altering effects were intriguing, with none of the downsides of alcohol, as far as he could tell. _Although not intriguing enough to turn me into an_ _habitué_ , he promised himself. On the other hand, his fascination with the highlights and shadows dancing in her hair was quite compelling as he followed a silken thread which escaped from her braid as it undulated in the small breeze. He smiled at her, stroking a hand along her arm, feeling each of her light hairs tingle and vibrate his fingertips. William inhaled fresh night air. "I recognize the odor; terpenes I believe. Tetra-hydro-cannabinol, you say?"

Julia giggled again. "I bet _you_ cannot say that three times fast." Of course, they proceeded to try with, to her mind, hilarious results. William, who never could tell a joke with a punch line, then tried to entertain her with some burlesque puns and witticisms, and for some reason she found his delivery to be hysterically funny, especially when he tried to make a joke about a three headed water dog out of the name for the drug with which they were currently experimenting.

She took a long drag on the remaining butt and held her breath a moment before exhaling. "Yes, the psycho-active compound. _Cannabis sativa_ I believerather than _Cannabis indica._ Ruby did not say where she got it, only that I should try it and that you should join me." She crushed out the smoke then leaned against him, reaching over to rummage in their food basket, her hip moving along his. "I don't think it is having any effect on me at all—so disappointing. I thought she was going to send something more bizarre like oil of hashish or an herb from her latest trip to India or even coca leaves." She brought out the remaining victuals – a broken package of McVitie's Digestives, with half of a Hershey's Milk Chocolate Bar, a new exotic treat that had travelled with them since getting off the train in Hamilton and which had somehow escaped predation until now.

Julia waved the chocolate bar. "This is not much to eat, William," then broke into a fit of laughter as the upright wrapper bent suggestively. Much to her surprise, her husband started to giggle as well; she had heard him laugh, occasionally uproariously, but the particular titter emanating from his lips at the moment just set her into another paroxysm at the thought of her husband being intoxicated when she was _perfectly_ sober and clear headed. "Oh, William!" she gasped as he reached over to compete with her for the goodies. "Let me have that. I am starving…." She met his face with hers and saw his eyes reflected the gleam of the campfire. _I never noticed the exact colour of his eyes like that before_ , she thought as the fire lit up chocolate-brown depths. Food was temporarily forgotten.

William pulled her down to his lap and found her mouth for a long, languid kiss. When he felt her give up all resistance and melt into him, he broke away and answered, "So am I…" with a low, husky voice. His mind felt both relaxed and aware while his senses seemed to be _glowing_ somehow. Along with that sensation, his physical desire for Julia, never in short supply, seemed particularly insistent, so much so the fact they were essentially publically displayed on an open beach under a makeshift lean-to, did not deter him from turning Julia on her back and running his hands intimately over her person before resuming the kiss. _I assume this is one of the vices enumerated in Ruby's letter,_ he thought vaguely.

Julia responded with her own fingers twining in his hair and following the curves of his neck and shoulders. She pushed him away only reluctantly. "There might be a night watch or patrol to keep the riff raff off this nice beach." She snickered again and looked around furtively, before giving an excited grin. "We should at least put the fire out…"

William rolled over, and picked up the snacks before they could be crushed or scattered. "In a moment. I have an idea…" He located the last of their treasures, another unusual food purchase from a French Confectioner's in Hamilton, after being tempted by a free sample. While Julia put a half dozen in a bag to satisfy her sweet tooth, William had spoken to the maker of the squares of _Pain de Sucre_ or _Guimauve,_ more interested inthe chemistry behind their creation. They did not fare well in the heat either, but William had a notion. He took a green stick off a nearby tree and threaded one of the _Guimauve_ onto an end and set it over some of the coals. In no time the sugar treat puffed up to became soft and yielding, yet browning nicely. He set a digestive down, a square of chocolate on it and then the toasted sugar on top, finishing off with new biscuit to make a sandwich. He handed the sticky mess to Julia who took a tiny bite then a larger one as her face lit into a smile.

"My, this is delicious. Mr. Murdoch I do declare you are a genius at times. No wonder I married you…" Julia smiled warmly with only the slightest bit of sticky residue on her face. "Can you make me another one?"

Her husband was in the process of making his own sugar and chocolate sandwich when the _Guimauve_ he was working onignited. He brought it up to his lips to blow the flames out, disappointed he ruined his morsel, but put it between the biscuits anyway and tasted it. "Hmmm. Not bad." He handed her the stick. "You want some more? Here, Mrs. Murdoch, you try it," he offered while licking his thumb and forefinger. He reached over to her chin with his thumb to erase a dot of chocolate, an intimate gesture he would never have attempted under different circumstances.

Julia gazed lovingly at William, who was looking relaxed and happy in a way she had never quite seen him before: shirt with no collar and open at the neck, sleeves rolled, shoes and socks off, hair blown back by the wind, sitting cross legged on a blanket eating strange food. It caused her to recall the life he had before becoming a member of the constabulary involved plenty of dirt and physical labour. He usually held on to his propriety, so when he adapted so easily to her suggestion to "camp out" it initially surprised her. She realized that she had been unfairly pigeon-holing him as needing an airing out. _Why do we women often think our men are in need of adjustment or a little fixing up? Ridiculous!_ she told herself. _We should be attracted to them the way they are, not as we want them to be_. Her imagination started running away from her and she laughed again, while turning her stick over the coals and trying to see if the dessert was cooking properly.

Her laugh set his off again. "Julia? What's so funny?"

"I was imagining you trying to perfect toasting one of these things over your Bunsen burner… the sticky stuff wouldn't _dare_ get on one of Detective William Murdoch's beautiful suits..." Julia pointed out a drip that had fallen on his trouser leg, as her own sugar square burst into flames, signally a new round of chuckles. They managed to get all the available sandwiches assembled and eaten after which Julia pouted that she was still hungry.

William reached over again to hold her jaw in his right hand and kiss her mouth, laying them down while nesting their bodies. When he leaned away again he was panting lightly. "Yes," he said, finding her eyes with his and lowering his lashes, letting hunger of a different kind show. "If you will recall, and as you are aware by now I have nearly perfect recall…I believe you owe me a certain, ah-hemm, _chance_ upon which I never collected…" He gestured to the blanket and their position together.

"William! _A tryst..?_ Here…?" Julia's mind went immediately to how seldom she would have these kinds of adventures with William after starting a family. Underlying Julia's intention for coming along on this trip was to talk about adoption again, without any influence (or interference) from peers, friends, or work. Construction on their home was proceeding, slowly, and between their professions and the requirements for the house, they had spent very little time with each other lately. The heartache after Roland left was less tender now, and privately she wondered if an infant was really the best choice for them, having experienced caring for Roland first hand, as marvelous as that had been. Becoming parents was going to be a different undertaking this time, deliberatively, with eagerness tempered by caution. Julia knew a great deal of unsaid thoughts and feelings needed exploring, and that William would need her prompting to address them— _Whether he wanted to or not… ._

She reoriented herself towards William. _That is for another time,_ she decided. _Right now I am alone with my husband with no obligations other than to our pleasure._ A giggle bubbled up. _Considering he is demonstrating a willingness to throw his habitual reticence and caution aside, how can I refuse?_ She surveyed the area and saw no potential interference from any direction, then challenged him with her eyes, accompanied by a wicked smile.

William let go of her to scoop some sand onto the dying fire, plunging them into absolute blackness, and then slid himself back under their tarp, calling Julia to join him, tucked away in a deep recess where a second blanket was spread. Neither could see the other in the night. Julia stood and shook out the fireside blanket, making her way over by listening to his entreaty, and when she found him she covered them both as she lay beside her husband. "Julia," William said with a smile warming his voice as he adjusted the cloth to hide their bodies, "all I ask is that you _never_ tell Ruby the results of this particular experiment." He felt her nodding vigorously, as her busy, familiar hands made quick work of his shirt and braces, whilst he explored her corset-less bodice and hips beneath her cycling outfit. "And afterwards we will clean up in the lake, with or without your bathing costume..."

Being unable to see Julia was disorienting at first for William. He adored the sight of her long, lean form, the flow of her curves under his gaze. _Her legs, so long, curvy and glorious for me to caress,_ he recalled somewhat smugly. He usually loved placing kisses on her most tender and excitable areas of skin, watching her face change as she became aroused under his attentions. Tonight, the entire sensory experience of being with Julia was altered, not just by the _Cannabis_ but by the darkness as well. He hadn't quite realized exactly how sight-dependent making love with her was, _he was_ , until being utterly deprived of that ability with the unusually black night; instead his other senses seemed amplified in compensation. Her small sounds drew his enhanced attention, her scent drove his elation, his fingers transmitted more than simple touch to his brain which swirled with sensory stimuli, demanding he have her skin to skin with him… _and more, much more._

He managed all the buttons on her tunic and cycling bloomers, allowing her to shuck them off while he got out of his shirt and trousers, but he was stymied by her underclothes—not recalling if they buttoned, tied or came off over her head. "Julia...I will need some help here," he asked.

"William, you are usually good at these things," she teased back, before realizing her mistake in pointing out his present difficulties with fine motor skills. She quickly understood his dilemma: the thin satin bows were lovely to look at, but devilish to unwind even with being able to see them. She did her best to shimmy out of the garments, before pressing herself naked along William's side and throwing a leg over his torso to get as close as possible.

In lieu of his gaze, he allowed his hand to find and trace the flow of her curves, the point of her hip and lower belly, just brushing her short curls, the contacts creating dark sparks of delicious energy between them. Dipping his arms to draw lines with his fingers along her thighs, he got a throaty hum from her in appreciation. He stretched his hands to cup her buttocks and pull her onto his body, bringing her head further up towards his, running the tip of his tongue along her salty flesh, until he became aware of her neck, the underside of her chin and her ear, hidden in the dark like a treasure hunt. She shivered at his touch and sunk closer into him while he tenderly sucked and nipped the space below her ear where her artery pulsed. He allowed his hand to dance along her ribcage and find a breast, gently circling a nipple with his finger before kneading the soft flesh.

"Oh, my," she a said. "You always find your mark." His actions triggered a fresh round of tingles to her core and a flood of wetness in anticipation of his next moves.

"I had a good teacher." He offered, in between repositioning his mouth, recalling a time when he was perhaps more tentative and less experienced in what was pleasing to his wife. He placed her on her side, and moved his head to kiss an imaginative path to her breast and lick and torture the most delicate spots with his tongue, pulling the firm nipple into his mouth until it took her breath away in a gasp.

"Oh…yes. You were an adept pupil as I recall. Mmm…" she sighed in pleasure. She was finding the lack of light, the anonymity, oddly exciting. "The darkness is interesting, is it not?" she commented.

William stopped briefly in his new pursuit of kissing her entire torso. "Yes, a new experience for you…"

"I suppose in the dark, you could be anyone, any lover I might imagine," she teased.

William paused. "Is that so? I am not sure I like the sound of that. I would know it was you, anywhere. You are quite distinctive…"

She laughed at his momentarily affronted tone, imagining how his face was probably quirked with displeasure. "But William, there is no one I want _but_ you. _Never_ any one but you. Besides, even though I cannot see you, I know it is you as well. I'd know your features, your hair, your smell, anywhere." Julia ran her hand over his face, fanning his long lashes with her thumb, stroking his strong arms and smooth chest, outlining the muscles she knew so well, while grazing her fingers on his abdominals as she felt them ripple and contract under her touch. She shifted and let her hand drop to his groin. With the back of her hand, she gently stroked the velvet skin of his arousal from base to tip, getting an answering sound from his throat and decided reaction from his hips. "I certainly know what it feels like when we connect. It is like nothing else in the world when you fill me." She brought her hand firmly down, surrounding his manhood with her palm and fingers, the friction of her hand stiffening his flesh. She squirmed against his thigh, and moved out of the way for one of his hands to explore her feminine entrance, so familiar with her architecture, building her desire with his fingers. As he touched her with expert strokes, she felt him draw fully erect and hard in her hand. "I can imagine it right now," she said in a desperate whisper.

 _So can I….Oh, so can I,_ William agreed. He heard her breathing, rapid and shallow with want. He smelled the intoxicating scent of her need, so much more mind-altering than any drug could ever be. He felt her melting in expectation, her hopeful trembling. That knowledge, those recollections, these sensations surged abruptly through him, pumping his heart, sending desire skyrocketing. Blind or no, his excited instincts took over, rolling her beneath him and situating her knees on either side of his compact hips. This was when they usually connected eye to eye as well as body to body, encouraging each other with a look; in the dark he had none of those clues. Instead he felt her pelvis sway and rise in anticipation, so accepted the summons, finding her silken opening and plunging in with one exquisitely long thrust. A low sound of gratification escaped him when he was fully inside of her; a firm key settled into an intimate satin lock, ready to open them both up and release bliss. "Yes…." He murmured, drawing in deep lung-fulls of air as he rocked slowly in and out of her luscious, wet center. Unable to see her, his brain diverted its massive powers of detailed observation to the delicious awareness of her depths as he moved within them, as waves of electricity flowed from there throughout his entire body, slicking him with sweat, surging the voltage higher in anticipation of an ultimate, powerful discharge.

Julia allowed an equally long moan before moving in counterpoint against his developing rhythm, adjusting her respirations to match his, lust coiled in her belly demanding rapid relief. Before Julia lost all capacity for reason, she had a brief flash of humour about how pleased Ruby would be regarding the results of her gift… _It was too bad she'll never know…_

 **# # #**

 **So,** _ **Dear Reader**_ **: Thank you for choosing my story. There is a mystery yet to unfold and exploration of their ideas about family and decision to adopt. I am hoping you will read to the end, after which will you write/review? If you are stopping at the end of this chapter and go no further, please tell me why — The writers of these stories get statistical feedback from the website, and about 50% of readers who start one of my stories never go beyond the first chapter. Is the story boring? The writing stiffer than concrete? You hate my characterization? You only like one-shots? If you don't want to publish as a review, private message me… That is how I will get better at writing, with your feedback—what you like, what you didn't—I will grow as a writer, with your help…for which I am grateful. Thank you-b**

 **# # #**


	2. Chapter 2

**-Chapter 2-**

 **Tuesday**

Rinsed, dry, dressed and on their bicycle before dawn, Julia and William pushed east to get to the Welland Canal lock southeast of St. Catherine's, hoping to beat the day's promise of another scorcher by riding up some of the steeper portions of the escarpment towards Thorold in relative ease on one of the boats making transit. This had been another compromise between them in planning their trip: from Toronto to just outside Hamilton by train, then bicycle along Lake Ontario to St. Catherine's, continue south roughly parallel to the Welland Canal to Port Colborne, east again along Lake Erie to Fort Erie, finally north along the Niagara River to Niagara-on-the-Lake. They would end up taking a steamer back across Lake Ontario to Toronto, completing the circuit. It was a chance to spend time together on an out-of-doors adventure doing something they both enjoyed, while field-testing William's new bicycle with tires James Pendrick invented for cycling on varied terrain. William jumped at the chance to be the first one to try them out, and concocted this scheme for a real-world test.

When Julia found out William and Pendrick's plan, of course she wanted to get in on it as well, having been enthralled and not a little jealous after hearing Miss Annie Cohen Kopchovsky, (otherwise known as Annie Londonderry) give an exciting lecture about her trip around the world on a bicycle. And Julia _had_ been persuasive, pointing out women were purchasing a good percentage of bicycles these days with the money they were making as independent wage earners. _That_ caught Mr. Pendrick's attention. Having Julia for an uninterrupted period of time, much like their honeymoon, appealed strongly to William, so he tinkered with his wheel creating a tandem ride for them with a light trailer.

This task was not as easy as it sounded, certainly not as simple as he explained it to Julia. After the cast came off his broken hand, it was theoretically healed, but it remained stubbornly stiff and swollen in comparison with his other one. Large and small movements proved to be painful and William was acutely frustrated that he was not as dexterous as he used to be, it taking weeks of patience and more pain to restore an almost full range of motion. Writing was still painful (and in his estimation produced poor results) he often thought disgustedly, having been at one point overly proud of his penmanship. He reckoned it was a good thing he learned to type-write since he had to rely on a machine to render his reports now. He was very glad Julia did not witness the clumsiness and frequency with which he dropped a tool or bent something he should not have, during his initial attempts to piece together their tandem. Accomplishing the task, though, went a long way towards helping him feel whole again, proving to be a sort of therapy for his wrecked hand, and, he admitted only to himself, _pride._

So far, the modified bicycle had worked splendidly, especially since a tandem set-up was more energy-efficient. Straining legs up a stiff incline, they had barely made it to the proper lock at the base of the escarpment and find the captain with whom their arrangement had been made. Hungry and thirsty, the couple accepted a very late breakfast from the boat's crew to eat on deck. Here they were only Mr. and Mrs. Murdoch, eccentric travelers, a source of interest primarily due to Julia's cycling outfit, but otherwise incognito. The transit would take a large chunk of the day up a portion of the flight of 26 stone locks, each one 270 feet long and 45 feet wide carrying freight the 326 foot differential between Lakes Erie and Ontario, allowing them to relax and converse in peace.

What the arrangement lacked in privacy it made up for with mechanical distractions for William to marvel at. Julia, for her part, was fascinated by watching the people living or working on boats or ship, and those inhabiting the canal side. She planned on enjoying the boat ride up the canal, allowing William the time to catch up on neglected journal reading, _or so he said._ It was not lost on Julia that her husband actually wanted to see how the locks worked and needed only the tiniest excuse to indulge his curiosity.

Today, like most days, the lock was jammed with crafts of all sizes, forming a floating puzzle of interlocking shapes, each captain and the lock crew working to move freight as fast as the laws of physics would allow. As the locks stepped up, an unobstructed view of Lake Ontario arose, looking more like a vast ocean by its size, flat and sky-glazed today, affording only a smudgy suggestion of far shore as the height increased. Toronto was at last revealed, defined by her industrial exhaust. Ships and boats rested at anchor waiting for a turn to enter the lock or to make way for Quebec: sea-going vessels, ships with sails mingled with ships under steam, lake freighters, trawlers, canal boats, even the occasional pleasure craft. By the third lock, William had retreated to happily discuss steam vs oil engines with the crew, leaving Julia alone on deck to happily drowse despite the noise and ordered chaos of the canal, floating up, up, up to Thorold.

# # #

William gently brushed Julia's hair out of her face, amazed she was still asleep amidst the rocking cacophony. He smiled recalling last night's assignation after which the two of them raced without clothing into the water to cool off and get clean; fortunately none of their nocturnal activities had resulted in being interrupted. _Or arrested_ _for that matter._ A chuckle escaped his throat. _Only Julia!_ He was sure that the smoke lowered his inhibitions, but he still could not bring himself to be actually ashamed: that would somehow diminish his wife, something he would not allow. _Perhaps it was not the effects of the cannabis but of Julia on my psyche_ , he guessed.

For a whole day he had managed to forget he was Detective William Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary and just be William Murdoch, free to investigate what interested him. As much as he admired modern efficiencies and conveniences such as the telephone and telegraph, _wireless telegraph_ no less, he thought how uniquely refreshing it was to be untethered. No one knew where they were and he told no one their exact plans, despite attempts by Inspector Brackenreid to secure an itinerary. Being decidedly unavailable for anything even remotely to do with work was merely a bonus for them both. He sighed contentedly, feeling himself at rest with his surroundings. _I cannot imagine how tiresome for someone to have to know where we are at all times or for us to have to broadcast our location – we are not that important or interesting!_

Gazing at his beautiful wife he knew one interest that never flagged: he belonged to her, the center of his world, no matter what captured his attention for the moment. "Julia…. Julia we are here," he breathed into her ear. Her blue eyes opened and focused, then she smiled up at him causing his heart to skip pleasantly. Without speaking, he helped her rise to gather their belongings and disembark into the town, expecting Thorold would provide a meal and additional supplies, with their intention to rest in Port Colborne by Lake Erie before nightfall.

# # #

Julia was absorbed by amused thought as she ate her fruit on a street-side bench. She and William were denied entrance to any of the cafes along the main thoroughfare because of her supposedly scandalous and un-ladylike bicycle attire, which naturally set her husband to calmly insisting the proprietors were being variously foolish, insulting or blind, while increasing his assertiveness in the matter exponentially; all to no avail. Julia eventually persuaded William to let it go and just find a green-grocer instead, producing a fine repast and more than required for the rest of the day: plenty of water, fruit, bread, hard cheese and a kind of cured sausage, all at an excellent price. She teased, "Well, at least I was not arrested for wearing men's clothing! Did you know that Dr. Mary Walker, a pioneer female physician across the lake in Syracuse, once told the arresting officers that indeed she was _not_ wearing any _man's_ suit, which I believe was the set of trousers, mourning coat and top hat she had on, but that it was her very own?" Julia saw that William smiled. _Probably thinking about getting arrested_ , she guessed, finally overcoming his grumbles about the restaurants. "So they had to let her go!"

He looked at her from under the brim of his hat while washing down last bite with a cool swig of water, recalling: _Julia wearing men's clothing_ _was_ _an interesting vision, if memory served, although one time was titillating and the other tragic._ Before leaving Toronto, she had needled his sense of convention by suggesting she would wear either men's trousers for the trip or polo jodhpurs, since the bicycle he built for the them carried an uncovered chain that would catch in her skirts—something he had forgotten to account for. By then it was too late for alteration. He surprised her by suggesting she consider a Rational Dress bicycling costume as appropriate, and possibly _fetching_ as well. He told her: _And unlike some well-publicized cases, I have no thought of divorcing you over it, nor be embarrassed to be seen with you._

 _Indeed,_ he thought as he appreciated her outfit, with her in it… _She looks delightful._ He altered his expression and gave her an appraising, serious look. "I have no intention of either of us to be in any kind of jail, ever again, unless we are there in an official, _Constabulary_ capacity." _Last night notwithstanding,_ he smiled to himself. He finished securing their packages to the bicycle trailer, and took the lead position on the wheel. "Shall we?"

Julia brought herself up behind him and off they went, meandering south along the canal. She found she was drawn to admiring his legs and backside, especially when he stood in the pedals for more leverage, knowing full well he felt the same way about her anatomy. The fact that his posterior at a crime scene was literally her first impression of him was not something she chose to factor in— _Or ever tell him,_ she had vowed _._ William once tried to explain to her it was simply because she had her back to him so often at the morgue, at the wash bowl, at the work bench or bending over a corpse that he could recognize her from behind anywhere…

 _That was the lamest thing I'd heard in a long time. My "back to him",_ _ **My Ass!**_ she thought…after which she burst into a small laugh at her choice of expletive. _He did blush so attractively when he said it,_ she remembered, thinking it was a telltale sign of his embarrassment at being caught out staring at her derrière. _Possibly, unconsciously leading him to suggest her cycling outfit in the first place, something he would never admit to!_ she reasoned. _Or it is truly possible he is not aware of his own ulterior motives_. It was one of the things she so loved about him. It was not that he had no depth—Goodness no! But for him to be aware of objectifying her and then admit to such a thing, she believed, would be deeply troubling to his sense of decency. That she was taking a mildly prurient interest in his haunches at the moment was, of course, not the point.

Once out of the congested commercial area it was easier to hear each other and converse. She could feel the tension melt off her shoulders as they went along, it was so liberating to glide into the countryside away from any pressing matters. Soon there was almost no traffic of any kind that joined their route save for the occasional horse and rider or wagon, while Julia imagined what living out here would be like, with neighbors miles apart. _Quiet, for certain_ , she speculated, considering their lives back in Toronto for the briefest moment. Even after designing their home, it took her and William a long time to decide exactly _where_ to live, with a lengthy back and forth about how they would pay for it. He was initially irritated, _wounded pride_ she suspected, when she rebuffed his intention to take on the mortgage, until she explained that with some readings of the law it could mean the home was not equally hers. Under the Married Women's Property Act, her resources and her income no longer automatically belonged to him upon their marriage, but women were, in practical terms, still economically disadvantaged no matter their station in life. By purchasing the home together, it assured her that she would be an equal partner, rather than have only what the law dictated: a one third interest or "widow's dower" in case something happened to him, or to have to understand that the home was going to be credited as a "gift" from him. It took much patient searching and education to get a banker to draw up the required paperwork with them both equally owning the property and being equally obligated for the debt.

As for their new neighborhood, in the end each thought the location was a good compromise: close enough for a bicycle ride or walk to the Station House for him, and a carriage or street car ride for Julia. However, the whole point of a house was to have a child to raise within it: ergo the knot of the problem.

After some diligent research, (and a lot of markings on the reverse of his office chalkboard), William and Julia made a short list of potential adoption avenues and decided to use this trip to sort them out and settle on the one that was right for them. William picked up on his most recent logical argument as they rode along. "I don't know, Julia. A private adoption has its plusses and minuses. It usually involves infants and is often between family members or even friends. Unless you already know someone, how does one arrange such a thing? I cannot imagine advertising in the paper: that seems outrageous to me, as if offspring are a commodity to be bought or sold." He found this to be particularly troubling: part of William's research had been to make inquiries into the legal minutiae of adoption; whilst doing so he'd been appalled at what he discovered about abuse and corruption, including prostitution, pornography, blackmail or exploitation. _Appalled but not surprised_ , he thought. It was why a private adoption from people he did not know was less desirable and more fraught with risk. _Risk I am determined to protect Julia from, if at all possible._

"I had the opportunity to talk with George, as you asked. He was very… _forthcoming_." He said this, thankful Julia could not see him roll his eyes from her seat behind him. George had bent his ear rather enthusiastically on the subject, once he got going. "George said his experience as a foster child was very positive, despite his, er… exceptional circumstances with his aunts. The reverend and his wife never pretended he was their natural son, even though he had been an infant when George came to them. He did not know why he was never adopted; I suspect perhaps because as a foundling the biological parents could not be identified for an official adoption, and the reverend valued honesty, therefore he shared the facts with George. George did not remember exactly how old he was when he was first explicitly informed, yet he never recalls feeling upset or disappointed about that aspect of his life until much later. His relationship with his foster parents was warm and secure."

Julia added: "I suppose it was only natural George would ultimately wonder where he came from, who his people, were. Of course he inquired into that after the reverend and his wife had passed." Her thoughts went again to Roland, with a slight twinge near her heart. She paused to readjust her hat as a gust picked up, threatening to make the brim set sail.

William reminded her: "We will not be fostering in any case. However, I do believe George was exceptionally fortunate; I hope we can do as well for our child." He adjusted the gears for another hill, standing to pedal harder.

"I am not sure which idea is better: for the child to know or not know as they are growing up." Julia said, as much to herself as to William, in between puffs of breath as she worked her legs up the slope. "I think it depends on the individual's psychological makeup. I have already considered when or how we will tell our child…seems we will have to answer that dilemma no matter what. To that end, won't a private adoption mean we have more complete answers when the time comes?"

At the crest of the hill a beautiful vista presented itself, with squares and rectangles of plowed and planted land spread out before them like a verdant quilt. William took in the view and gestured to Julia to share it with him, while pausing to catch their breath. William admired the geometry and flow of the fences and crops, pointing out to her how the furrows trace the contours of the land. He placed his hand along the curve of her waist and drew her closer, offering her a delicious sweet kiss, which she accepted and returned. William also wanted let her know her know he closely considered her point of view in the matter of adoption. "I am not saying I am dead set against it, Julia, just that the benefits of going through one of the orphanages or foundling homes seems to outweigh the disadvantages." He held the bicycle until Julia remounted before pushing off and heading down the lane. "Besides, what are the odds another child will come our way by happenstance?" He looked back at her over his shoulder. Giving Roland back had nearly unbalanced Julia for a minute, and he did not think either of them could stand to go through that again.

"Would we turn it down if it did?" she asked. A cooling breeze picked up as their speed increased, descending the other side of the rise.

"That leaves a lot to chance does it not?" He glanced back again with a sly grin. "Or do you think your sister, Ruby, is going to show up pregnant on our door step and ask us to raise her baby?" He teased her mildly, but after he said it, got an uncomfortable feeling he was tempting fate.

 _Ruby is capable of just about anything,_ Julia thought with an exasperated grunt. Out of loyalty to her sister she only muttered her opinion, hoping to ignore William's provocation. Instead she thought her rebuttal was well-planned and persuasive. "Yes, I understand the risks William, but a private adoption would be just between us and the parent or parents—no agency passing judgement on us. We could have much more important information that way about the health and background of the child and family. Our problem is going to be finding an agency that will allow us adopt, or at least a reputable one. We both realize getting Roland was… almost too easy."

Buried deep in her heart, Julia feared that her reputation, such as it was, could prove to be a barrier to adoption. The idea that, once again, she would be the cause of pain or loss for William, _particularly in any way that might prevent him from enjoying fatherhood_ , was unbearable. In her own honest evaluation, the list of her public transgressions was long, and on paper could be construed as covering enough questionable moral lapses to sabotage an agency adoption. When she had previously broached that to William he heard her out but dismissed the possibility as unnecessarily pessimistic. Julia was not so sure…

William was quiet for a while, focusing on the road while gathering his thoughts. "Perhaps the children we encounter through our occupations are not meant for us." His recall flashed through the dozens of children he dealt with over his career with the Constabulary: some had been charming, some damaged, many desperate. He switched into a more pedantic tone. "We need to go about this properly, Julia." He laid out his reasoning. "We were married in church, are well-educated, physically healthy, stable in the community, and have good incomes. Father Clements promises us an excellent reference. For that matter I imagine we will be able to obtain references from any number of individuals who are aware of our characters and fitness to be parents. Think of the children languishing without family, unclaimed, who need a good home. One that we can provide."

Julia sighed. He bypassed the other unspoken problem: what if the birth parent or another relative wanted the child back? Her concerns continued to plague her. _I recognized my fears might be irrational but so is William's stubborn optimism._ She decided he was likely to be right, however, about going through a more formal process next time and having someone else research the child's circumstances before the adoption… _before_ they fall in love with another child… Setting her anxiety firmly aside, she said, "So, if that is the plan what is the first thing we should do?"

William recognized he'd won this argument for now. "Thank you Julia, for understanding." He had this part mapped out already: "We put in applications, as soon as we get back to Toronto. We can start with one of the Home Children placements, and after that the Diocesan and Anglican orphanages. We have the acquaintance of Mr. and Mrs. Ketchum and Mrs. Morgan from St. Paul's, and hopefully that plus Father Clements' endorsement will open up the necessary doors for us."

Discussion on the details threaded back and forth between them as the miles unwound. To test Pendrick's tires on uneven country lanes and foot trails, their route used side roads and old mule and horse tow-paths along older versions of the canal, splashing through small creeks, with the new large-treaded tires absorbing some of the shock and gripping the ground well. They had had to stop occasionally to adjust things on the tandem and it was taking more time than expected, but Allenburg and Port Robinson sped by, with Welland to the west (where the more modern canal connected with the previous one and headed straight south to Lake Erie), when the subtle wobble building in the bicycle became alarming.

William braked the wheel and waited until Julia dismounted, before examining his modification of an Iver Johnson truss frame he used to create the unique tandem bicycle for them to share on this trip. He'd spent weeks sketching, researching and acquiring components, eventually deciding on bamboo instead of steel for the trailer and second seat, since it has greater tensile strength and was lighter. William pushed his goggles out of the way and eventually spotted the trouble, which seemed to be a serious bend in a (very expensive) aluminum wheel. "Julia, I think I can fix this, but it may take a while. At least it is not a wooden rim." He looked around the countryside. "Do you by any chance know where we are?" William had delegated navigator duty to Julia.

"No. Not exactly." Julia took her own eye protection off; because it has been so dry the ground threw up a lot of dust and she could not see the map with goggles on. Make that maps, _plural._ She had one topographical, one geological, one with each of the three canal systems superimposed over the landscape, and one with a latitude and longitude grid overlaid on roadways. That was the one she was actually using to choose their route. When William originally showed them to her he was excitedly going on about all the information contained in them and hoped the various facts to would enhance their journey; in Julia's view they made navigation harder. She recalled voicing her opinion: _How can we actually get lost? North is Lake Ontario, south is Lake Erie and east is the Niagara River. If we stay east of the canal that will make it a western boundary._ When she saw his face fall at her lack of enthusiasm, she immediately relented and indeed the maps added another layer of interest to their ride.

"I just thought as long as we go south we are on the right path. Perhaps Cooks Mills?" She looked around, the sun having swung nearly due west towards where the canal lay. That would be close to 43.3 latitude and -79.4 longitude. There was not a building in view, mostly open fields and wooded lots which obscured sight lines. Neither had witnessed much farming activity on their route since the crops were planted and it was not time for harvest; the area appeared quite deserted. They pushed the rig over to some shade by a stand of trees and Julia detached the trailer as William found his tools to started work on the rim. When it became clear her husband was lost to figuring out a solution to their vehicular dilemma, Julia found the edition of _Principia Ethica_ by G. E. Moore that she and William had been taking turns reading, and settled in, feeling pleased she got to the book first this time.

More than an hour has passed before Julia looked up from her book, to see William hunting around again for another elusive tool. He was not cussing or throwing anything (as far as she knew, he never _did_ ), but his body language clearly showed frustration. The bicycle was, if possible, in more pieces as the sun was getting lower. "William, are you sure you do not need my help?" She dropped her book and came over. Julia knew her way around a simple fix on a wheel but what her husband was working on seemed out of her area; however rather than _progress_ he seemed the be _devolving_ the contraption instead. She was looking forward to a nice meal at a lovely Inn (with attached bath) they booked for the night in Port Colborne, therefore she was getting worried considering the state of their vehicle, especially when the last dinner seating would be at 8:00 pm.

William sighed. "I am having trouble aligning the wheel properly. Aluminum is light and strong, but I am afraid to put too much torque on it. Here, can you hold this?" After another forty-five minutes of tinkering, he surrendered; while he had not succeeded in breaking the wheel he also had not straightened it. "Julia, that's it. We will need to find a blacksmith, or even a good workshop with a vice clamp. Perhaps we could take the wheel towards the canal and a ship's engineer or crew could help? There is a slight crack that might need welding which is why this has been harder than it needs to be…" His only consolation was that it was not his frame or James Pendrick's tires that failed, but they were stuck regardless of the cause. His mind was already drifting to imagine exactly what equipment it would take to effect repairs…

# # #


	3. Chapter 3

**-Chapter 3-**

 **Tuesday evening/night**

"William! Honestly, you have paid more attention to that _thing_ than to me or the _time._ It's getting dark and you won't be able to see anything until morning any way," his wife said with good humour. She was sad about the missed supper and chance for a nice bath since she was quite dirty and hungry from the day's ride, but was going to be happy enough to find a farmer to take them in if necessary.

He looked around, startled that so much time had elapsed and the sun was indeed setting. A quick check of his watch produced an apologetic glance towards Julia, and wrinkling of his face in consternation. "Oh. I am _so_ sorry!" he gestured broadly to encompass the whole scene. He looked around, three hundred sixty degrees…there were no lights to be seen anywhere on the horizon. "Where was the last farmhouse we passed?"

Julia thought about it. "More than a mile…closer to three miles." She came over to him with their map and pointed to where she thought they were and where she thought the last homestead was. "While it is not that far, I am also not looking forward to navigating some of that terrain, at night, on foot." She abandoned the idea of a farmer's hospitality or even hayloft for shelter, thinking the weather was fine and dry. "Perhaps we can stay here over night and try again in the morning?" She smiled to show there were no hard feelings about the situation; if anything it added to the allure of adventure. She could almost envision being lost in some foreign locale half-way around the world on a trek such as her sister regularly enjoys. _No wonder Ruby takes off like she does. It can be quite exhilarating to be left to one's own devices._

William flipped options over in his mind for a moment then nodded and collected all the parts of the rig in a pile, before starting to help Julia set up a small lean-to with blankets and a tarp. This evening was, if anything, warmer than the night before since there was no lakeshore breeze to cool them. A small copes of trees where they parked the bicycle backed into a thick stand of pines, where it was already full dark beneath the bows. Cardinals were singing sundown "chip-chip" calls and crickets were tuning up their racket. Blessedly, the life cycles of sand flies, black flies and mosquitoes cooperated, with swallows and bats cleaning up any remaining insects; otherwise spending a night out of doors like this would be miserable.

Julia spread out their food and divided it into dinner and breakfast, figuring some sort of civilization should be reached by lunchtime one way or the other, even if they had to walk the bicycle to their destination. She took a rag and some of the water and proceeded to wash her face and neck, luxuriating in the evaporational cooling. William did the same to his unshaven face before making a small fire for light, looking skyward as sparks flew up into the deepening blue. The night promised crystal clear skies, perfect for an emerging blaze of stars.

Eating their meal while staring at the flickering, crackling wood, William decided he did not need to think about tomorrow or the bicycle repairs, in order to focus once more on Julia and their decision about creating a family. He found it getting easier to talk with her about his feelings, but it did not come naturally the way logical arguments did. Taking a breath, he cocked his head and asked, "How old a child do you think we should aim for? Is that even a variable to consider?"

Julia's lips twitched, trying not to smile while she nibbled some cheese, so she nodded to buy time for an answer. _Only William would frame things in terms of experimental variables, something he could possibly control for_. While he said "child" Julia understood William wanted a boy. She knew he could not really articulate why, despite trying to convey his feelings several times in several ways. It was not to establish a legacy or merely carry his name. Julia guessed it was something about passing on to a boy what it took to be a man, a true gentleman; something William learned was only to be had at great cost. She also had the insight that a son would awaken the boy in William….The boy that was not entirely suppressed by tragedy, religious prohibitions and her husband's careful, introverted nature; the boy who emerged when William was particularly pleased or proud about an invention, or scientific breakthrough. In her imagination she could see William teaching his son about the world, wakening curiosity in a young mind… and she was looking forward to sharing that marvelous experience with him.

 _But as for choosing the child…._ She stopped for a small breath. _Having been smitten with Roland from the beginning, I know the power of emotional factors are impossible to put into a neat formula._ "I don't know, William. It is not like they are arranged in the Montgomery Ward "Wish Book" and you pick them out by size." Julia smiled at the absurdity.

 _Julia thinks she is making a joke,_ he observed, _but I have seen exactly that in the criminal underworld, and worse…_ "Umm…yes, I suppose not," he equivocated.

"Is there any chance you picture in your mind a school-aged boy? Someone with whom you can interact?" Julia gave voice to William's desire for a son.

This time he was the one who kept nodding and chewing bread. "I admit it, Julia—you have taught me to suspect my motives—but seriously, an older child…er…boy? I would love a girl as well, you know." He'd never specifically told her about his many dreams, his _fantasies_ really, of having a family with her which included a young son. These imaginings were so vivid and real, except he was at a total loss to explain the phenomenon rationally: only that they felt so _true_. Not a premonition _, per se_ , but yet, still, a glimpse into the future which gave him hope and confidence, faith as it were, that this would become his life. He continued his thought, agreeing: "But, yes, not an infant or toddler. If for no other reason that we are aging ourselves," he faltered when he saw her eyes narrow so he covered it with a smile, "Or at least I am. _You_ of course are ageless…" A roll sailed playfully over to his lap, well-aimed by Julia. "Or perhaps you get younger every year…" A second roll followed accompanied by laughter. "Why thank you, I think I _will_ have more…" Julia's laugh was precious to him and he grinned broadly back at her.

She laughed along with him, eventually recognizing that he was also getting to the heart of his worry, in a (possibly unconscious) roundabout, humorous way. For a woman of her middle-class status, never mind profession, to bear a child at her age would be considered somewhere between grotesque and scandalous (our late Queen notwithstanding), while for women of the working classes is was often an economic disaster even if they survived the process. Men procreated well into their forties, fifties or even sixties without such qualms, although usually with much younger wives; however, to have the pleasure of actively parenting, see that child grown and established, or to experience the joy of grandchildren, was often impossible before death claimed the father due to accident, ill health or sheer age. It was almost a cruel joke she saw take place over and over again: just as soon as the husband and father established his fortunes well-enough to look to the future and build a home for his family, he was dead within a year or two-often before the house was even finished. Julia knew William to be very healthy and fit, capable of running many a younger man ragged with his energy and fortitude, and certainly did not count himself as _old_. Moreover, he wanted to be an involved father, shaping the growth and development of a young mind… but at this point could be well into his sixties before he sees the results of his efforts. _As for grandchildren…_

She fell serious again. "An older child…an older _boy_ who does not need a nursemaid or nanny?" Julia saw the practicality in that, as well as advantages; she was just not completely sure this _could_ be a rational decision. She sighed. _Love never was._ "But, William, are you prepared to raise a child that would know we are not his natural parents? Are you willing to take that risk?" She realized she was trying to do exactly what she thought William was, control an outcome, but pushed on with her concern. "The psychological adjustment will be harder for an older child; what if he does not bond with us?"

William took her hand and held it between his, stroking her fingers contemplatively. He was not oblivious to his wife's question, and spent considerable time on this very problem. "Julia, we have to, I don't know, make a connection with the child, with _him_ …" he paused, smiling, "so we know and _he_ knows it is the right fit for everyone. He should have a choice in the matter…"

The discussion meandered much like their route today, following and exchanging ideas in a free-flowing manner. By the time dinner was done, they agreed reluctantly (but realistically), an infant was probably not ideal for them.

# # #

Full dark, with no lights from habitation and no moon, produced a fabulous star-scape, giving her husband the idea to bring a blanket into the nearby field for star gazing. "That would be delightful!" she answered. For a while they stared upwards from the fallow grasses, pointing to constellations and planets, sharing synopses of recent scientific or medical articles of note. As was often the case between them, vigorous intellectual stimulation sparked _other_ kinds of excited interest. Julia occasionally wished William would be more forward in initiating physical relations, but he seemed to always wait for a signal from her… _Sometime the flimsiest of signals to be sure…_ she smiled happily at the memory of one particularly passionate afternoon. Tonight, however, Julia could no longer resist the lure of William's reclining form, softly lit by the light of eons past.

She sat up and started undoing the buttons of her tunic, giving him what she hoped was a seductive, come-hither look. She noticed an immediate change in his expression to one of intense observation, followed abruptly by his eyes swiveling around in worry as he tried to sit up.

"Umm… if you are going to do that, shouldn't we…"

She laughed at his discomfort. "No one is here, William…no one for miles around," she said, feeling mischievous without any need for a drug to lower _her_ inhibitions. She was also feeling brave: the puckered skin on her abdomen was still lumpy and reddened. When she looked at it in her mirror, the area appeared ugly and twisted making her reluctant to let him see it, while feeling foolish at the same time. _I am being slightly ridiculous, since he had monitored me for infection and cleaned the wounds often enough, s_ he reminded herself. Regardless, she had managed to substantially avoid him seeing her entirely naked for the last few months, _especially,_ after it was safe to have marital relations again.

 _Perhaps I can overcome my resistance this way…_ she told herself. _The lighting is certainly most forgiving..._ Julia put a finger on his chest to push him back down on the blanket so he could enjoy the show. "Don't you want to see what you are getting, William?"

Her wide smile brought an echoing one to his face, recalling the first time he heard her ask that particular question, and hoped that meant she was overcoming her sensitivity about her wounds. _All right, I will go along with whatever Julia, my-wife-the-secret-exhibitionist, is intending,_ he told himself. _I can match her opening gambit_ , hoping he was capturing her spirit accurately. "As a matter of fact, I believe I would very much like to see what you have to offer. However, as I recall, I won't be the first man to fancy this view, up to and including, I believe, one Constable Crabtree, not to mention my superior and a dozen or so other men who have had the advantage of me at one time…."

She threw her tunic at his face in mock-outrage, before curiosity snuck up on her. _Is he talking about more than my stay at the Naturist colony a few years back?_ Her previous sexual experience was never something open for discussion. She studied him intently now, but he gave no indication he was expressing any _double entendre,_ so she decided to keep going… "You could have joined me in the nude then, William. But, Oh! The sour, shocked look on your face was priceless..." She felt the giggle rising in her and did nothing to suppress it. "And you were the most interesting shade of red…"

William had no trouble recalling the incident, and pushed the tunic aside, trying to sound serious. "Now, if I were a _jealous_ man…" Next he caught the chemise that was saucily dropped his way, bringing it to his nose to inhale sandalwood mixed with her scent. "However, I am aware of the brazen harlot I married…" teasing her in return.

She stood to lower her riding breeches and bloomers, pushing the fabric off her hips and stepping out of them, causing him to be unable to remember what he was trying to say, other than… _Magnificent!_

Julia was more than satisfied by his open-mouthed, speechless reaction. She teased him mercilessly by showing off her curves, arms flung wide under the night sky. "Harlot, you say. Oh. So, William, you are not the jealous sort?" she asked, pulling him back into the game.

"Why, no, I do not believe I am, Julia. Jealousy implies insecurity; hardly a gentlemanly virtue, and no compliment to his lady." He replied, quite sincerely. "Since I trust you, jealousy would never apply."

"Then what would you call it?" Her gaze sharpened. _He's in trouble if he gets this wrong,_ she vowed, instantly surprising herself with her reaction. In her head she could hear Ruby warning her, _"Careful what you ask for, Jules…."_

William took a long pause, savouring her appearance, seeing her wearing nothing but a smile: _Only for me_ , he told himself. Without her clothing on, he also spied the marks he'd left on her last night in the throes of passion; in darkness he had no idea he'd done so. The rapid physical escalation and culmination of sexual excitement had been amazing, propelling them effortlessly past the point of no return in exquisite, explosive, harmony. Without sight, his senses had been cross-wired in some unexpected ways, giving him flashes of bright fireworks in his mind at the exact moment of release…the power of it leaving him stunned and breathless.

Revisiting their powerful climax was erotic in its own right, but this, to his mind, was even better. _As much as I enjoyed the new sensations of making love to her in the darkness, seeing her_ _this_ _way, the vision that she is…Extraordinary!_ Joy flooding him outward from his solar plexus to the tips of his fingers and toes. _My attachment to her is so much more than superficially physical._ _It is her spirit, her intellect, her personality that truly won me over…was what intrigued me before I ever saw her face or heard her voice._ Love played in his heart. _Beauty alone, without substance, would never have drawn me in; without her mind there would be no excitement,_ _no passion_ _._ He stopped his interior monologue, deriding himself for his habitual, shortsighted folly. _Too much in my head…One of these days I will have to find a way to tell her this, in plain English_ …

William glanced again at the love bites on Julia's sweet flesh, nearly being carried away again. He cleared his throat, coming back to her question, a little slyness creeping in. "I would characterize myself as… territorial. Yes, I am quite _territorial_ …" He watched her warily for the quickest of moments, ready to finish his thought just as she was about to register displeasure. "I believe I belong to you, do I not?"

Julia's breath caught, temporarily overwhelmed by a surge of emotions. _Oh…that is just right._ She felt herself surrender under his gaze. "Yes," she breathed again, coming to kneel closer next to him, pushing her waterfall of hair to the side and taking his face in her hands. "Yes. You do belong to me, William." She placed her lips to his and brushed them along slowly before adding just enough pressure for a feather-light kiss, stroking his face gently above his brows. She then lay peacefully across his chest, playing on his skin with her finger-tips until he shivered.

"Then join me here, Julia." He motioned her to lie closer beside him. Changing positions so he could lean over her, he swept his gaze along her iridescent skin, admiring the glow of her creamy velvet limbs and play of shadows created by the evening sky. He gestured to the vault of stars, whispering low in her ear. "It is quite amazing, isn't it? Events from so long past affecting us in the present day; the geology of this place, the suns in far off galaxies giving us this magnificent view." His hand moved to include her naked form in that compliment.

In return, she placed more soft kisses on his lips, skimming her breasts against his body. Her hand traced his stomach and thighs, causing him to make a sharp inhalation when she _oh-so-slowly_ dragged back up and reached his groin. His kiss became more demanding as she fondled him through the fabric of his trousers, feeling gratified by his immediate physical response.

"William, you have too much on," she murmured in his ear, "let me help you fix that." She slid her hands to his waistband and pulled his shirt up to get to at all the buttons then undid his trousers. _He's going to make me work for it, isn't he?_ He allowed her to disrobe him, piece by piece, with Julia appreciating he was putting on his own show of patience and restraint all for her benefit… _Just like he did the first time we made love._ She was happy he was playing along.

Once free of his clothing, William lay down again. Julia smiled triumphantly, pronouncing herself satisfied. "My goodness! I never thought I'd see the day when William Murdoch would be completely naked in the out of doors!" He smiled shyly back up at her, looking a little uncomfortable displaying himself for her viewing, regardless of the number of times they had shared intimacy. Feeling suddenly protective of his vulnerability, she leaned in again to cover him with her body, smoothing his skin and distracting him from self-consciousness. She was struck by the absurdity of how often they made love and how little they talked about sexual relations. Caught up in the moment she thought: _I suppose now is as good a time as any…._ "William…"

"Umm..?"

"Did it ever bother you… _does it_ ever bother you, that you were not my first…?" As soon as she said it she had a stab of regret at ambushing him like that. _He is going to feel damned if he did and damned if he didn't — Damned by me if he ever thought about it and feeling caught off guard if he did not. Doubly dammed if he does not have a quick reply_. She tried to take it back. "William, I am sorry, that was unfair…"

William hugged her gently. "Julia…it's all right. The truth is that it is irrelevant to me I am not your first…lover." He managed to say it with only the barest of hitches, and sought her eyes to make sure he had her attention. This was something he _had_ considered before, perhaps not in the way she imagined, but he was capable of answering honestly with no hesitation. He smiled, and lace his fingers in her hair to give her another deep, passionate kiss, leaving Julia a little breathless and her eyes unfocused, just the way he hoped. He brought his mouth close to her ear, his warm breath flowing along her neck. "However, in my soul, I want to be the last…"

Julia gasped softly and hugged him tightly. "Yes, William…" She felt as if her heart would melt with love… _Just right again,_ she thought, and subsided against him.

For William, the experience of her weight draped over him was bliss. He was unable to resist her, invigorated by the prospect of making love to her in the warm, humming dark, with no likelihood of being overheard or needing to curb their enthusiasm. "Come here." He reached out again to caress her face, taking his hand around to the back of her neck and pressing her mouth to his. Her tongue danced along his in small, enticing flicks, each one sending a small shock directly to his pelvis. He felt his arousal press assertively against her, enjoying the small wriggles she made as she moved, which were sending urgent messages from this most sensitive part of his anatomy to his brain. His voice was low and inviting. "I don't believe I am done collecting my 'set' of lighting conditions, Mrs. Murdoch. I already have sun, moon, fire, candle, gas and electric light. Tonight is making love with you under starlight…"

Julia forgot about her scars, forgot about everything except how much she loved this man. She sat up and straddled him, trapping his manhood snuggly underneath her, and flexing her arms up and hands out, threw her head back to inhale deeply. The fresh night air was a tonic, and being sky-clad felt so liberating she just had to laugh with joy at sharing it with William, giving a throaty, "Why yes, Mr. Murdoch, I believe that it is…"

 _She is indeed glowing and glorious, my Artemis crowned by the Milky Way,_ he thought, looking at her against the backdrop of brilliant stars. William took advantage of their positions, getting two hands on her waist and then up to her breasts to cup and tease them, stroking the soft, willing flesh, watching his fingers touch her and watching her response to his activities. He recorded the sight, committing it to memory in that special place within him reserved just for Julia. Tonight he wanted togo very slowly, _see_ everything, with all the time in the world and the space of the blanket at their disposal, and no ears to be disturbed by the intensity of their love-making.

Julia rocked gently, gliding her wet entrance over his manhood, enjoying the stimulation. She did not need to wait very long for an answering shift in his body underneath her, when he bracketed her hips with strong hands to hold her in place. His eyes, so full of love and happiness, never left her face. She bent to kiss him, receiving the tenderest taste of his lips, and a slow exploration of his tongue. His hands swung to her buttocks to lift and open her slightly, allowing an even better angle for her pleasure while keeping up pressure on his erection. Just the thought of him entering her, spreading herself open to him, was enough to enliven her whole being. Added to that was the anticipation of letting go of any restraint, hoping William will join her with abandon. She knew for certain his sounds of sensual delight lit a flame in her.

Right now, her insides ached and pulsed, needing desperately to join with him: nothing and no one but William could satisfy her. "William. Tell me what you want. Tonight I am all yours…every night," she said in between placing nips and kisses on his skin, applying sweet torture to his body. She was rewarded with tingling strokes on her buttocks and thighs accompanied by the effects of her motion on their mutual gratification.

Her touch fed his desire, allowing him to forget everything but her proximity and his growing excitement. William smiled wolfishly _._ "Oh, you already know…" He wanted to see her take him in, while simultaneously having the delicious sensory overload that always accompanied sliding into her luxurious, tight core…making her moan as it happens, releasing his own sighs… He secured her blue eyes with his, making the most crucial link between them and noticed she was matching him, breath for breath. He moved his hands so she could get into a good position for connection, waiting impatiently for the first thrilling touch of warm, liquid satin when she began to slowly settle down around him. He felt her move slightly to achieve just the right angle, knowing that the hard ground would magnify the power of that first perfect move that they both wanted so badly… He held his breath in suspense, pulse racing with longing. Her eyes were wide, dark and intensely focused on his as she took in a deep breath… _Yes! Almost there…_

When Julia suddenly stopped and flattened herself stiffly against oulse raced

This was not to William's liking, momentarily confused at her reluctance. "Julia, what…?" Then he also heard a noise: the creak of leather, swish and tramp of a large animal across the grass, a soft jangle of _something_ accompanied by a mere hint of tobacco. Whomever was riding through the field beyond a small rise missed them by about fifty yards and disappeared as enigmatically as they came. "Shhhh, Julia," he whispered. "They are gone now, but sound travels."

# # #


	4. Chapter 4

**-Chapter 4-**

 **Wednesday**

"Stop, thief!" Julia shouted while aiming a stone and pitching it, hard.

William managed to chase the raccoon away just in time to save their breakfast. The would-be masked bandit managed to dangle far enough off a high branch to snag the bundle Julia had made of their food and slung up there for protection, but after a small stand-off, the creature waddled away rather slowly. "That was nearly lost," William observed. "Rather bold fellow don't you think?"

Julia seemed amused and offered her own take on who was the "boldest fellow" in these parts, making William's sunburned skin pink up a bit more. He coughed and brought the wrapped items to their blanket to eat. Slanting sun had woken them up in the pine stand's sketchy lean-to, and after some discussion, they decided to pack up and get ready to go, before seeking the nearest farmhouse for help. In the better morning light, William saw telephone or telegraph lines strung in the distance to the south, indicating habitation in that direction was closer to them than retracing their steps several miles back towards Port Robinson. He suggested they could follow the path taken by last night's horse through the field, when a sharp report sent birds scattering in alarm, then suddenly going silent.

"William…that was a gun shot." Julia looked up, abruptly hyper-alert and feeling her pulse throbbing in her ears. She put one hand unconsciously on her abdomen and tried to calm herself by breathing out long breaths. She touched William's shoulder with her other hand for reassurance, to ground herself in reality.

"And close," William agreed, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand out. He tried to reassure her, aware she was wide-eyed and shaking a little. "This is rural country where people are up before dawn most days, and a shotgun or rifle is common for all sorts of reasons." He frowned. "Never- the- less, perhaps you should stay put while I investigate, and we both should wear something bright to avoid being mistaken for a deer. Or a horse thief." The reference to Julia's horse-ride to rescue him was supposed to be a joke but did not bring any levity. Hearing a gun-shot ratted both of them a bit. _The last time I heard a gunshot, Julia was on the floor outside our suite covered in bright red blood_. Of all the memories of that awful few days, that was the one that still stuck in his mind.

Julia shook her head, _No_ , then retrieved his revolver from their luggage and handed it to him along with a red neckerchief and insisted he take both items. She donned a bright yellow scarf. _It feels safer with him,_ she told herself. She pretended to be calm and business-like, thinking that avoidance would just add to her anxiety. "I am going with you," she said, looking around and pointing, "in that direction where our night visitor went and where that shot came from. It seems that if we had broken down a quarter mile further we might have had shelter yesterday. Do we bring the rim with us?"

William knew she was trying to face her fears, so he tucked the gun in his pocket and nodded, trying to reassure her with a smile and gentle, matter of fact words to distract her. The couple loaded the trailer and exited the trees with their busted wheel and William's tools, making for the field. Just beyond the woods and down a gentle hill from where they spent the night, a small farmstead was revealed not 300 yards away, consisting of an unpainted lap-sided barn beyond which was a small house crafted in vernacular style. Curtains flapped in the windows indicating they were open, but there was absolutely no other movement on the property as far as they could tell. A long rutted drive angled from the front door down a hill. No lines ran to the house, so no electricity or telephone was to be expected. William and Julia went around and presented themselves at the front door. After getting no answer to knocking, they checked the barn—also deserted save for two horses. Julia decided to try the back door of the house, which was unlocked. She peered in the window and entered, then called William over, escorting her husband into the kitchen so he could view what she found.

"He's dead." She touched the man's face and neck. "It is hard to tell in this heat and with the stove lit for baking, but I think he's been dead a while." Oddly enough, finding a dead man calmed her nerves. _I know how to deal with this_ , she thought. The man's chair faced the back door, and he was head down on the table with his morning meal cushioning his chin. A small round hole was prominent in his forehead near the hairline.

William made his sign of the cross before taking in the sight and sniffing, indicating he smelled no gunpowder, then set his revolver aside to search the area for other evidence. He was bending to look under the table when he heard the cocking of a gun and an angry challenge.

"Hold it right there! Who the hell are you and what have you done to old Morris?" William moved very slowly, bringing is hands up to stand next to his wife, whose wide eyes were clearly frightened. Two men filled the doorway, both dressed for farm work with the taller, older man holding a shot gun. When William tried to walk forward, the gun waved him back, so he stood aside, placing his body in between the long barrel and Julia.

"It's not what you think. We came looking for help and found him like this. My name is William Murdoch…"

Julia cut him off abruptly, knowing he was about to announce his occupation and introduce her as well, and she made a rapid assessment that was not going to be a good idea. "And I am his wife, Mrs. Julia Murdoch. Gentlemen, we were coming to this house to ask for help with our bicycle. I came to the back door and saw him like this through the window. " She smiled as sweetly as she could. "He was like this when we got here, but I went in to check on him just in case... We did hear what we thought was a gunshot perhaps twenty minutes ago now, from this general direction, but I don't think…"

Now it was her turn to get overridden. The younger man, black haired and about forty or forty-five years of age stopped her. "That's enough." He turned to his companion, who was holding the weapon as if he knew how to use it. "You two are standing in a man's kitchen with a gun and that man's been shot. We need to get the law involved. How about going back out on the porch while I see about what interested you so much under that table." The man gestured to his companion. "Doc Buchner? I'll go fetch the sheriff, if you hold that shotgun on them until we get back." He pointed to William and Julia.

Buchner nodded. "Will do, Abner." He gestured with the barrel of his gun, sitting his two prisoners on a bench, and himself in a chair facing them, business end of the shotgun trained and ready.

Julia tried to hold a collegial conversation with Dr. Buchner, but the more she spoke the darker the white-haired man's face got. By the time William nudged her a second time she relented and fell silent. Unfortunately, it did not get any better when the balding sheriff and his very young constable arrived, escorted back by Abner McKenney. William mistakenly believed that he could get things straightened out "law man to law man," by holding a reasoned conversation.

McKenney started. "Doc Buchner and I came 'round to talk with Morris about sharing out use of a steam-bailer and hired hands during harvest like we did last year to take hay to the canal, wanting to get a jump on it before other folks got their contracts signed." McKenney then made the introductions. "So, Sheriff Potter, we found these two, says they are a Mr. and Mrs. Murdoch, in old Morris' kitchen with that gun, poking around. The man was just setting his revolver down on the table to have a peek around and the woman was fussing with Morris." He moved his head towards the kitchen. "Didn't look to me like there was any time for anything to be disturbed, and no one else was around."

McKenney sketched out the discovery of William and his wife in simple terms, accurately as far as William could tell, except for the part about suspecting them of doing the killing. He was feeling somewhat confident the misunderstanding would be cleared up, until the local law man started making remarks about Julia's appearance, something about gypsies, and the general foolishness of city people wandering around the countryside up to no good, offering cockamamie stories as if rural inhabitants were dimwitted.

Sheriff Hiram Potter had flinty eyes. He bore down on William and Julia with obvious dislike, having made several additional sarcastic comments to William's attempt at explanation. "So, you claim to be a police detective and you are his wife, a _lady doctor_ , no less, from Toronto of all places and on a bicycle trip vacation, only your newfangled wheel got bent. You came here to get help fixing it?" The man oozed skepticism, looking at the pair's unkempt appearance and examining the bent wheel. "If you are a police detective then I am surprised you would poke around a crime scene, so that makes me doubt your story. Even if you are who you say you are, plenty of public servants are caught out as criminals. I think I am taking you and that hand gun to the local station where you are going to wait for a coroner's inquest to determine the cause of death and then we are going to consider arresting you for his murder." He looked Julia up and down. "You can go with my constable and we'll get you secured elsewhere—never had a woman in the holding cell… never a decent one," he squinted meaningfully.

Julia began a vociferous protest, pointing out that there was no actual evidence tying either William or herself to this death: "I think that if you examine the body and the wound you will find…"

"Madam, who do you think you are! That is what we have a coroner for, so unless you want a trip to our local holding cell with your husband, you will silence yourself!" Sheriff Potter spat. He glared at both of them. "Stop talking now. We'll hear you in court if it comes to that, but save it for then."

"Julia," William whispered low and urgently, "I think it is wise to do as he says. This will get settled soon enough and we'll be on our way by lunchtime," he appraised the sheriff again, "or surely supper time." He darted a firm glance at his wife, willing her, for once, to act sensibly and with discretion rather than impulsively.

Julia was seething, thinking she would in fact rather be _with_ William, even in a jail cell. She used every ounce of restraint she possessed to curb her outrage. It helped to remember she had some resources in her possession that might prove useful. She saw William's eye brows shoot up in surprise when she relaxed and smiled harmlessly at the constable who was charged with taking her away.

# # #

 **Six hours later…**

"Well, Julia…" William had a small smirk sneaking up the right side of his face as he greeted his wife, softening the exasperation he was feeling. Her husband sat on a wooden bench with his spine to the hard stone wall while Julia took up a second seat in the tiny companion cell to his left. The constable locked her in and glowered through the bars at her, then left abruptly in disgust, shutting the door with a bang and thereby closing off any movement of air. He gestured grandly to their cramped quarters. "We are back. In a _jail_.  Again."

"At least we are out of the woods, William," she said in return. "But we still do not have indoor plumbing." Julia motioned to the chamber pot in a corner of her cell. "My goodness, it is close in this room." She fanned herself with her hands. "I see you have opened your collar and buttons for relief of the heat…I think I shall do the same." Julia undid her sleeve buttons and rolled them up and then made a show of unbuttoning the neck of her blouse while giving William a sensual grin. _Well, he likes to_ _look_ _after all_ , she thought.

"Dare I ask what brings you here?" William had been left alone with a sandwich and jug of water several hours ago, expecting to be let go quickly; certainly not expecting to see Julia again _this_ way. He was aware she was attempting to tease him, likely to soften or distract from whatever story she was going to tell about getting herself locked in the cells with him. _I wonder what tale she will tell me now?_ He settled in to listen, and put his hand between the bars.

"First, I have to apologize for getting us into this, William. If I hadn't gotten your gun out we would never have been held. I hope you can forgive me…" Julia touched his outstretched hand in greeting. "But, as a matter of fact, I had a closer view of Mr. Morris' body, and I can confirm what I think we both suspected: he was shot with a rifle. There was no gunshot residue and considering we heard what we think was the shot going off, the shooter was standing outside the door, making for that interesting angle of the wound. I also can confirm he was dead before he was shot—no blood. I have some ideas about that."

"What are you thinking? Not natural causes, I assume?"

"I suspect quick-acting poison, by the look of his face and skin, probably put in his breakfast. If whomever examines the body looks beyond the obvious, they will make some confirmatory tests. The inquest is a straight forward but truncated affair, going on as we speak. The will be no formal autopsy here, no removal of the bullet or comparisons. All that will be taken care of in Welland or the body will be sent back down to Port Dalhousie. The magistrate wanted to get it over with to decide if we should be sent to over to Welland. However, I imagine we will be let go soon since it was not your handgun that shot Mr. Morris." She grimaced, "Or at least _you_ will. I believe the sheriff and the crown prosecutor did not appreciate my examination of the corpse…"

"How did you get caught?" William asked evenly. _It would do no good to complain, especially since I knew she was going to be up to something,_ he thought.

Julia noted he did not wonder _that_ she did it or _how_ she accomplished it; also that he was openly inspecting her throat and collar bones from his vantage point a few feet away. "The room I was locked in was right next door to where they brought Mr. Morris' body. In this heat no one wanted to leave him out on his farm for a viewing. Bringing him to a room in the basement of the court house was sensible and I guess is not unheard of, but in doing so I overheard some of the discussion about his death that I thought was wrong-headed." She gave her husband an embarrassed look. "I was caught getting back _into_ my locked room. When I tried to explain I was not running away and that I had concerns about the fact of the case, well that's when the Sheriff really got angry…"

William winced, quite well aware how capable his wife was of upsetting the status quo. "So, even though we found the man we will not be called to give testimony, I assume." William said.

"At this point I do not believe they will hear anything we have to say…I'm sorry William, I thought I could get out and complete my examination and no one would know…" She pushed her braid out of the way. "It did not occur to them to check me for weapons or other useful articles before locking me in a small office, with me being of the fairer sex." She made a girlish face and shrugged.

"Chivalry?" William asked, glad he was out of range of her hands. She had this habit of swatting him playfully, but occasionally it stung.

"Chauvinism more likely!" Julia managed a laugh. " _Now_ they have all my hairpins and the charming little pearl-handled penknife you gave me. The constable's wife was called in to do the deed of checking me over." Julia undid another button, revealing more décolletage. She looked around the room again. "You know, we could probably escape from here….."

William brought his hands down from where he was resting them behind his head, and gave her a calculating look. "Yes," he said with a sharp exhale. "I have come up with three different methods since I was brought in here. I think this place is mostly used to let the occasional intoxicated person sleep it off until morning. Certainly no maintenance has been done in few decades."

They lapsed into silence while Julia was trying to figure out an escape method of her own and wondered what William's schemes were. He would not tell; instead making her guess at them to pass the time. Julia decided she would have fun with him and undo another button every time she guessed incorrectly, and received his off-hand chastisement, amusement playing on his face. "Julia, you only have so many buttons and are already a source of outrage for the outfit you have _on_ ; it would be much worse for you to be found _without_ it." He smiled wryly at her, "The sheriff did say no _decent_ woman was ever in these cells…"

Frustrated with his logic and him being out of arms reach, she desisted, but did not hesitate poking back at him. "William, _you_ will be missing out on the fun." He laughed and agreed that was so. Eventually she turned to him with a thoughtful expression in her eyes. "William. We have never been in jail _together_ before. We can add that to our list of experiences, and I now have a new story I can actually _tell_ Ruby." She gave a small laugh, before catching his eye with an innocent expression. "I have been curious for a while…what would you have done to get me out of jail in Toronto. You said you'd get me out, no matter what. Did you have a plan?" She asked, finding herself unaccountably nervous at questioning him.

His eyes got momentarily bigger. "Julia, I …." He saw she was serious. He sighed and gathered his thoughts. "My plan was to prove you innocent. I _knew_ you were and I also knew that the only way to free you was to get the evidence."

She saw him pause and frown. "I am aware what you did for me, William. But, you know, if Gillies hadn't trapped you, his confession would never have come to light. I also know he expected us both to die, was never going to let either of us live, was never going to keep his promise to you that I would go free if you sacrificed yourself." She smiled warmly at him, proud of how clever he had been. "You outfoxed him." She turned serious again. "But, what would you have done if the judge or chief constable kept rejecting the evidence you uncovered? Knowing you I am sure you had a backup plan."

William looked seriously at his wife, thinking of all the joys he discovered by being at her side, the endless pleasure when she was in his arms, the final piece of _belonging_ that life with her afforded him. Even now, his gut dropped at the mere thought he could have lost her, forever. He tried to demure an answer.

"William. What is wrong? It is a fair question and one we have never talked about. Since you are locked in here with me, you realize you cannot escape answering," Julia teased.

William wrestled with the response he was about to give, and scratched his forehead before colouring a little, catching Julia smiling at his characteristic nervous gesture. He found her hand again through the bars with one of his, and situated himself so she could clearly see and hear him. He drew his other hand across his unshaven face and began. "Julia, are you sure?" When she only nodded he sighed again and started speaking slowly. "I had been working on a contingency plan for some time. I emptied my bank account a little, week by week to raise no suspicions. I made a gas-producing device to render the guards unconscious and I was going to take you out of the jail and down to the docks where I had a room in a brothel for us. I would have had you cut and dye your hair back to its natural colour and send you north with one of the girls where you would have taken sanctuary under an assumed name in a convent. After a few months, I would have sent travel papers through an intermediary, with another new identity I obtained for you and passage out of the country. I was thinking Iceland…" He stopped, knowing it sounded ridiculous now, but at the time it was the best he could set up, pulling on strings, bribery, relying on favours, working through layers of middlemen to buy time for her escape. If Gillies had not kidnapped him, all it would have taken was sending an apparently innocuous message to set it in motion.

"Iceland? William why would you send us to Iceland?" She was smiling at the idea. "Or is that just a stop-over for us until we found someplace with no extradition?" She kept smiling. "Extraditing aside, why not New Zealand? Women can vote there…"

 _She still does not understand_ , he thought. His controlled expression started her smile to fall. "Julia. There would be no 'we.' You would be going alone. I would not be joining you. Ever. It would defeat the purpose of disappearing to travel together or join up: too great a target, too obvious, too expected. If I saw no way to ever clear your name, I was going to either stay and confess in a way that threw the authorities off your scent, or…"

"You what!?" Julia gasped, startled at such a preposterous, _and dangerous_ , idea. She did a double take since he looked so serious.

William felt uncomfortable under her scrutiny. "It would not have been difficult, Julia. The crown prosecutor and Chief Constable Giles both considered me to be a strong suspect; the more I worked to prove you innocent the worse it got. If that was not feasible, I would have tried to make my way to Mexico to draw the search south." He saw her stunned expression and flinched at the confusion and pain there. "In either event we could never contact each other…never see each other again." His grip on her hand tightened. "It was not just the law that could catch up with us, Julia. It was also James Gillies. He had abundant money and resources—and if he hadn't been caught, those resources combined with all the time in the world to find us again would have made him even more dangerous."

Julia's face reddened. "William! You plan was to have us separate forever? And worse, stay and be jailed yourself?" She was so upset it was hard for her to produce speech.

"I would have done what I had to do, just as I promised. I would never have let you die, Julia, no matter what it took." He had both her hands gripped in his, his eyes locked on hers, willing her to understand that without her, life would have ceased to matter for him, except for knowing she was free and alive somewhere in the world. _Jail might have suited me just fine without you,_ he thought but did not say.

Julia's breath hitched; as his words sunk in she started to tear up. "William, I am not sure I could have accepted that fate."

He answered in a whisper. "Acceptance is like gravity—ultimately impossible to fight: it just _is._ One does not have to like it." He relaxed his hold on her fractionally and the side of his face drew up. "Fate eventually smiled on us, so I refuse to complain. Er… Can we talk about something else?"

For a while the two of them just sat in the small airless space, content to chat about trivialities and decline Latin verbs for diversion. Their conversation about the awful consequences created by the deranged mind of James Gillies was laid to rest. Julia still struggled to understand William was probably right: after rescuing her, they would indeed have had to part, likely forever. It made her so glad her life turned out as it did, to be so immensely happy with William. _I need to always remember that life is fleeting,_ she promised herself, feeling her mood lift and good humour return. _Even in jail, at least we are together_. After a while she saw him looking quizzically at her, apparently thinking through some problem in that focused/unfocused way he has.

William became still for a long moment. "Julia," he asked slowly, tentatively, as if he was still working out the question. "What do you think about raising an 'only child'? Most, but not all families are large, if they are lucky to have the children survive. Are we being selfish or unwise in choosing to have only one child?"

She was surprised. _Where does that come from?_ "Are you asking if our eventual son would benefit from having a companion?" When he nodded she put her mind to it and tried to answer objectively. "I think it is good for a child to have a sibling, psychologically speaking." She thought about it some more. "We both had sisters and that shaped who we became as adults—although two more divergent personalities than our sisters I cannot imagine…" Julia heard William bark a short laugh of agreement.

"Indeed," he answered. "I adored my little sister and for a while the two of us were all we really had enduring so much turmoil after mother died and our father dropped us at her sister's. My aunt was a plain-spoken woman: very strong, very practical, very devout and not given much to emotional upheaval. A respite from our father, perhaps." He adjusted his position to get closer to her. "I had just started to feel as if Susannah and I were really settling in when I was sent away to school."

Julia remembered delight in her baby sister's arrival. "When Ruby was born it was as if she was my own baby doll, almost a present for me…I am sure that is how my mother handled the initial sibling rivalry and jealousy issues." She put a hand out to his shoulder through the bars "My mother would have liked you, William. It is painful to admit, but I am more like father, being tall and angular, and Ruby is much more like mother than I am—small, soft, conventionally feminine, and …"

"But hardly conventional in any other way," William added when Julia paused. When she did not cuff him, he took that as agreement.

"I tried my best, William, it just did not _take_ with her! Father expected me to perform the duties of training her to be a lady," Julia laughed at the idea, "and while Ruby is well-schooled in social conventions, she flouts them at will." In the past Julia might have actually been annoyed, but no longer. "If we adopted a girl, who is to say I would have any better luck with her than I did with my notorious sister?"

 _I sincerely hope that was rhetorical,_ was his immediate thought. "Would you have wanted a brother? Older or younger?" William inquired instead.

Julia thought about it; the boys she grew up around _did_ influence her. "I think a brother would have inhibited me actually, especially if he had been the over-protective sort. I had male friendships instead and did some supposedly masculine activities. It allowed me to learn to be assertive and comfortable with men, certainly useful in my life. Would you have wanted a brother?" She saw him shrug.

"I don't know, Julia. Having a sister, and a mother that I wanted to protect from our father, I supposed, makes me rather reflexively protective of women—you and the inspector have pointed that out to me on numerous occasions, " he admitted. "If it had not been for my mother, sister or aunt, where would I have gotten any experience with females at all? If, on the other hand, I'd had a brother we would not have been separated as Susannah and I were." He thought about the few friendships he forged over the years, most of them eventually cut off when his education or work ended. "I did feel a bond with some of the other boys at school and certainly looked up to the Fathers. I suppose I wonder what it would have been like to know Jasper…" William was not one to indulge in self-pity, so veered away from that topic as non-productive. "I have always wanted to make my…er… own place, I suppose you'd call it."

"I am sure that came from your losses and being moved around so much, but that also meant you had no one to hold you back. I on the other hand, could not wait to get away from my father, from home, after Ruby was grown. I had been sparring with my father for years, but going to medical school was outright defying him." Julia grimaced again, thinking about the friction with her father before his death. "You know, William, no matter how hard we try to be good parents there are no guaranteed outcomes."

William acknowledged that. A new idea percolated up which captured his imagination. He sat upright. "Julia…" he asked tentatively, "What if we find a pair of siblings to share our home? Brother and sister? Two brothers? It occurs to me that it may be harder for them to be adopted as a pair, so they might be separated, is that not so?"

Julia continued the thought. "Yes. It is likely harder for siblings to stay together. Sometimes the older children are adopted but actually taken to work in a home or on the farm," she drew her finger in a circle indicating the vast acreage surrounding them outside of town, "and the small children or infants are taken in more easily to be raised as the offspring of the adopting parents."

For his part, he thought his aunt had tried to love him and Susannah as family members, but surmised she was relieved when William won a scholarship to boarding school at age 12 and Susannah entered the convent at fourteen. To be fair, his aunt did not _choose_ to add children to her life, unlike what he and Julia wanted to do. He asked, "Then, what would you think of school-aged children? Would that be too much at once?"

She did not answer directly. Julia suspected William had been harbouring this idea for a while, but not ready to share his thoughts with her until now. Instead she offered: "Perhaps children around 5 to 8 years old, like you and your sister were?" He looked at her in surprise then was silent again after that, retreating into his head to work out his answer. Julia knew that was his process so she let the topic drop; there was plenty of time to explore everything that needed doing.

In the meantime to relieve the boredom the discussion swung around several times to Mr. Morris' death and their more immediate predicament. Finally, Julia threw up her hand in frustration. "William, I don't understand what is taking so long. The Toronto Constabulary would have notified them we are who we say we are long before now. And we are being held on suspicion but not officially arrested yet—and will not be, I am fairly sure."

"Things just take longer in outlying areas, Julia. You have lived all your life in cities. When I was up north and when I worked the ranch, a trip to town could be an all-day affair: saddle up, or hitch the wagon, load and unload the goods, get the mail, do other business. They would have to round up manpower from townspeople or the farms—we did not see much in the way of paved roads or even telephones out here, so it will all take time." William had used his inactive hours to work out a few design problems in his head. He had an idea for an adaptation of a new technology to provide cooling for their house: inspired by the heat of the enclosed jail cell, he was devising an exhaust fan to bring cool air into the house and exit hot air through the attic.

Julia took a moment to observe the disheveled state she was in compared to her husband's tidy appearance, her buttons and his unshaven face notwithstanding. _He's like a cat that self-grooms._ She smiled ruefully. "If we are not careful, no one will ever let us adopt a child…we can't seem to stay out of trouble long enough. I truly do hope this episode does not hit the press again in Toronto." She sighed. "Do you suppose we can do something to keep it out of the papers?"

William admitted to himself that he gave this entire problem more than glancing attention while he was waiting in the cell. It unnerved him that they were talking about offering a home and security to a child, and part of that promise entailed a predictable life with parents the children could count on to be there. He wanted to reassure her: "I don't think our misadventure will come to anything…."

Julia had no opportunity for follow-up. With a whoosh the heavy outer door creaked open and the Sheriff Potter entered, scowl firmly in place. He reached to his belt for a large ring of jangly keys and opened each cell without comment then stood back. Potter cleared his throat and spoke without preamble. "You two are free to go. The Toronto Constabulary vouched for you and I am disinclined to arrest you for trespassing, interfering with a criminal investigation or abuse of a corpse. We have another suspect and that will need the cell you are in." He looked closely at William. "I suggest you collect your weapon from the magistrate; it will be returned to you only when you get on your way." He turned on his heel and marched out, leaving William and Julia looking at each other.

Julia took off after Potter. "Sheriff Potter, now that you are apprised of who we are, you must know that as Toronto City Coroner I am able to provide valuable…" She nearly ran into him when he stopped dead in his tracks, causing her to yelp in surprise.

"Look here, Mrs. Murdoch, or should I say _Doctor_ Ogden, this is my jurisdiction and if you interfere again I will change my mind about detaining you. Neither I nor the crown prosecutor need your help." When he saw his words did not seem sufficient to deter her, he turned to William and commanded: "Murdoch, control your wife!" With that he stalked off.

Julia bit back a reply in time to lay a tentative hand on William's arm when he took in a great breath to argue back. Fortunately it got his attention long enough for the Sheriff to disappear. "William. Let it go. We have the rest of our trip to enjoy. You can get the wheel fixed and we can be on our way." She knew he was not happy with this idea but appeared willing to go along, leaving her to do up her dress and him to collect his tools and her items as well, before they made their way out to the street. "This is not our jurisdiction, not our case. And I think we need to keep our speculation about poisoning to ourselves."

Once back outside, the pair was greeted by no less than the two men who found them this morning. The younger man approached William and Julia, tipping his hat politely. "Mr. and Mrs. Murdoch. I thought we should meet on more convivial terms. Let me officially present Dr. Maynard Buchner and I am Abner McKenney. We are, _were_ , neighbors of Oliver Morris whom you found this morning." He smiled. "Sorry about that. No hard feelings I hope?"

William shook's both men's hands and formally introduced Julia. He noticed the tandem bicycle and trailer were resting in the back of a wagon. "Thank you for bringing that to us, but I still need a blacksmith or workshop to fix the rim. Can you direct us?"

Doc Buchner nodded. "Yes. Abner here has a repair shop should do the trick. Would you like a ride? We can fill you in on what happened while you were otherwise occupied, if you have a mind…"

# # #


	5. Chapter 5

**-Chapter 5-**

"Old Oliver Morris was a hard man, difficult with his hired help—no one stayed very long. His sons left as soon as they could to get away from him – later both of them died in Afghanistan. Broke his heart, really. Lived alone on that place after his wife passed on with only a girl to come in and red up his house and do some cooking for him. I thought that new coloured farmhand, Gideon I think his name is, was a decent sort; it sure surprised me to hear he killed old Morris." McKenney and Doc Buchner chatted with William and Julia while bumping along in the wagon. "Sheriff Potter says that they found the farmhand, heading up-canal on a barge. The constable brought him back down with a sack of his clothes and an old rifle. He says he quit late yesterday and took off, but did not get too far because he forgot his gun. He says he bundled down for the night and got up before first light, walked back to the house, got his rifle and just took off again. He says he did not see Morris and did not know where he was. He refuses to say why he left suddenly and said he's surprised his gun was fired, let alone used to shoot at old Morris. He insists he didn't kill him."

"Dr. Buchner, did you get to see Mr. Morris' body? Did you perform as coroner?" Julia asked.

Buchner shook his head and shrugged. Abner McKenney grinned and answered for him. "No. For two reasons: First, because he was with _me_ when we found _you_ , the prosecutor decided he was exempt in case he was needed to be called as a witness against you two. Second, Doc Buchner does not practice medicine anymore because his eyesight is too poor." McKenney chuckled. "He might have held you at bay with that gun today, but he couldn't have aimed it to hit you if he tried."

Buchner laughed. "All too true. I am not totally blind, I can see enough to get around, although my wife suspects I malinger to get out of doing things she wants me to. I see nothing in the distance and nothing close up anymore because of retina tears. Regardless, around here everyone is a part-time something or another on top of being a full-time farmer or craftsman or shop-keeper. Including the Sheriff who raises pigs and prosecutor Atkinson who plants corn and hay, for that matter. They pulled the young fellow who took over my medical practice off his orchard to go take a look at old Morris." Buchner frowned. "He does not know the first thing about being coroner, so the sheriff and prosecutor, shall we say _guided_ him. Once they figured out your hand gun was not the right weapon and that Gideon was gone, it was not hard to add it all up." He smiled conspiratorially. "You folks did not do yourselves any favours. Not everyone likes strangers wandering around the countryside. And no one likes city people putting on airs."

Abner McKenney's workshop was simple but seemed outfitted with what William needed. Buchner said farewell, giving his horse permission to take him home to his wife along a familiar path, while McKenney offered to put William and Julia up for the night. "I have plenty of room and I feel it is least I can do for you after all the trouble. My wife and daughter- in- law make a good roasted chicken."

Julia perked up a bit at the prospect of a hot meal and proper bed, so she sent an encouraging smile to William. He was not so sure. He said, "Thank you for the offer, but we need to get on our way, to make up some time…"

McKenney looked at Julia. "I have a closet-folding tub that makes a nice hot bath."

That of course did it. "We would be grateful to accept, Mr. McKenney as long as you do not think your reputation would suffer from having us stay with you?" Julia only half-teased. She was aware small towns loved their gossip.

McKenney leaned closer. "I have a bet going with Buchner on that." He winked and continued. "I will dine out all the long winter on this story of the famous Detective Murdoch and his wife Dr. Julia Ogden! ... Besides, I thought you'd like to stick around for the proceedings tomorrow and see how this all comes out."

# # #

 **Thursday**

The tiny Cooks Mills municipal building, barely holding twenty seats for spectators on long wooden benches, was already hot, making no one eager to take their seat too soon. Outside the building, townsfolk, mostly old wiry men, leaned against the clapboard siding in the shade like so many worn-out hoe and rake handles, waiting for the spirit to move them to a task.

William, Julia, McKenney and Buchner arrived early enough to acquire seats. Julia, who was a source of some minor gossip, had pulled a white linen dress from her luggage. She was presentable in her outfit, with a small straw hat and lace gloves, sitting ram-rod straight to make up for the lack of corset; she but knew full-well it fooled none of the women present. William had bathed and shaved as well, complaining about being uncomfortable in a courtroom without his usual attire; on the other hand he looked like he fit right in with the locals.

Inside the room, there were the standard two tables plus "bench" for the magistrate, Mr. Homer Crowland, with a chair for the witnesses and benches for a jury. Most criminal cases were sent to Welland with only minor issues settled in the small town. Right now they were trying to decide if, based on circumstantial evidence, Jimmy Gideon would be formally charged with Morris' murder and sent Welland for trial.

The prisoner was the center of everyone's attention in the stuffy, standing-room-only space. Commentary and tobacco smoke flowed freely and openly, at least before the court was called to order. Anyone not milking or feeding was there before 10:00 am when Mr. Gideon was taken out and presented to the court. The town constable brought him to the tiny dock, with Sheriff Potter undoing the handcuffs with his noisy key ring. The Sheriff kept order and the prosecutor, one Mr. Zebe Atkinson, explained the case against the man. Tall, dark-skinned and lanky, Gideon sat stoically—refusing to confess, and refusing to explain, which artfully confounded the open and shut case the authorities thought they had. The only thing additional he was willing to say was that the rifle was the sole legacy of his own father, a slave from the States who served in the U.S. civil war, which was why he was so keen to retrieve it. He stuck to his story that he quit, collected his wages and left, and that he did not shoot Morris. In response the prosecutor even went so far as to make the lack of clear motive evidence of the heinousness of the crime and reason enough to charge the prisoner. No one said anything about the man's dark skin and African heritage, but William and Julia both assumed it weighed against the man, but not as much as the fact he was an outsider.

Abner McKenney identified people in the room and Dr. Buchner offered William and Julia background on them in a _sotto voce_ , explaining who was related to whom, who were the business owners and the farmers, etc. Mr. Crowland, the magistrate, was the largest landowner in the area and from one of the oldest families; he had four daughters and a wife who enjoyed the finer things in life. Buchner confirmed that the locals were suspicious of new comers—defined as anyone whose family was not farming before the war of 1812. While all this was going on, what caught Julia's eye was a young woman a few rows ahead of them, that McKenney pointed out as being Renée Durand, another non-area native who cleaned and cooked for Morris. Dark haired and small, she alternately tore at her handkerchief or plaited her apron trying not to weep or gasp at what was being said. She appeared to be staring a hole in the back of Mr. Gideon's head. Julia at first thought it was anger or distress at the man who killed her employer, Mr. Morris, but as the morning progressed she was not so sure.

"William. This does not make any sense. What do you think?" Julia whispered.

To William, Gideon having a motive for coming back for his rifle was the only part of the story that actually made sense. William knew confessions were prized, and hard evidence preferable to a circumstantial case like this. He whispered back: "Without a confession I doubt he will be convicted at trial. There is no motive and no direct evidence to support the man's guilt. I tend to think there is something more going on here. But the sentiment seems to be against Mr. Gideon none-the-less. Why shoot someone who was already dead? And why is the prosecutor not addressing that?" Both he and his wife looked carefully at the agitated woman in front of them.

It was all but certain Magistrate Crowland was going to order the farm hand be taken to Welland on suspicion of murder. To the amazement of all present, Miss Durand burst out: "Non! You cannot! I killed him, I shot him! I confess. _I confess!"_ vacillating between sobbing and defiance.

The room erupted. Gideon bolted out of his chair towards Miss Durand, shouting "No!" in protest. The Sheriff and constable grabbed girl and farm hand, pulling them apart.

Crowland called for order, pounding on his desk with his fist so hard his watch chain and insignia clanged loudly together with the fastener and decorative cigar cutter he wore, while spectators stood to get a better look. "Everyone sit down! Miss Durand. Come forward. Sheriff Potter, keep Mr. Gideon in a seat. Mr. Atkinson take your place." He looked angrily at the young woman. "This better not be a trick of some kind. The current evidence points to Mr. Gideon's rifle shooting Mr. Morris and that he ran away afterwards, never mind his story."

The young woman stood up straight, shaking hard. In French-inflected English she declared: "Non! I will say it. I shot Oliver Morris because he drove my Jimmy away." She spit, startling the crowd. "Il était un cochon! Il a essayé de me baiser … a essayé de me toucher ... je l'ai giflé loin! Mr. Morris was a pig, made an improper behavior towards me and told Jimmy I wanted this. Jimmy broke our engagement and left me. So I picked up Jimmy's old gun because it was there and because I was angry. I shot Mr. Morris and left." Miss Durand sat abruptly and slumped as if the strings that kept her aloft were suddenly severed.

This statement sent the room into an uproar again. William turned to Julia over the din. "That gives a motive for the murder—revenge against her employer and her lover all in one. She almost got it to work."

"It also gives a reason for him remaining silent if he knew or suspected she shot the man, because saying why he left would involve her…except we know that he was already dead before he was shot." Julia added. "I was about to say that I thought she was disturbed by the proceedings right before she confessed. I think if they were lovers that also explains why he tried to get her to stop talking, to stop confessing. He was willing to sacrifice for her." Julia looked lovingly towards her husband, allowing unspoken sentiment to momentarily pass between them.

Mr. McKenney and Doc Buchner leaned in, having been eavesdropping. "Except I understand you believe he was already dead when he was shot," said Buchner. "Perhaps you should talk to the Sheriff, crown prosecutor or even the magistrate if you have evidence. Do you?"

The noise did not abate. The magistrate, fished for his watch then jammed it back in his pocket in irritation, calling over to the nearest man, the prosecutor Mr. Atkinson. "What is the time, sir?"

Atkinson checked his own watch and called out "Eleven-thirty am, your honour." The magistrate recessed the court for an hour while the Sheriff cleared the room. William, Julia, and their two companions exited the building.

"Mr. Murdoch, Dr. Ogden?" McKenney asked when they found a quiet patch to speak. "What do you know?"

Julia and William turned to each other. William gestured for Julia to speak. "While I cannot be sure without testing and a full autopsy, I believe Mr. Morris was dead before he was shot. There was not enough blood from the wound and the edges of the wound do not show hemorrhage. That indicates to me that he was already dead before the bullet entered his skull."

"So what do you think was the cause of death?" asked Buchner.

"Gentlemen, I suspect poison." Julia answered confidently. "I think it was obvious the farmhand was not guilty from the beginning. What I don't understand is why that young woman is confessing to shooting Mr. Morris—although it may be just as she said. Perhaps what really happened was she shot him to make sure he was dead because she was not confident in the poison."

Abner McKenney looked surprised. "You think the Durand girl _poisoned_ Oliver Morris?"

William looked at his wife who nodded. "Yes, we do. She may not have known Mr. Gideon would come back for the gun," William continued the idea, "but it would have to be exceedingly tight timing for Miss Durand to shoot Mr. Morris and then Mr. Gideon to come by and take the weapon before my wife and I arrived—considering we heard what we think was the shot." He paused in reflection. "Although we do not know for certain it was the _same_ shot—there is an outside possibility it was a coincidence." He frowned, showing his distaste for coincidences.

"How did he get poisoned then?" asked McKenney.

Julia said: "William and I now suspect the young woman poisoned him with his breakfast bread. I was watching her behaviors in the court room—she was distressed in the extreme, so there had to be another element going on. The bread, a kind of pain au levain, is left rather soupy overnight and then baked off in the morning. She could have come in early in the morning as usual, added poison to the bread and then left the baked loaf for him to eat. She would have known his habits quite well. Something fast-acting would mean she would not have had to wait very long. "

William offered: "The other idea is after he was dead, she got the notion to shoot Morris to direct suspicion on Mr. Gideon, fabricating evidence as an act of revenge on him for leaving her."

Julia nodded, considering the terrible price that is sometimes exacted for rejection, recalling the unbalanced minds of James Gillies and Eva Pearce.

"Or even Gideon shot old Morris to divert suspicion from Miss Durand," Buchner speculated.

Julia nodded, "However, I am interested to hear Miss Durand's full confession because there is some of this that does not hold together, neither the evidence nor psychologically-speaking."

"I think we should try and speak with the Sheriff and prosecutor if possible, and share our views," William said, "before the court resumes." William looked at his attire and sighed. It was going to be difficult to win over either man and he was very sure that since he presented the appearance of a common labourer, no matter that his identity as a detective has been established, he was not likely to be taken seriously.

Indeed, his first attempt to have Sheriff Potter speak with Julia and himself ended badly, with another threatened arrest, at minimum, for trespassing. "Mrs. Murdoch. Even if you are a medical examiner, now you think you are a lady alienist?" William began to defend her by saying, "Well actually…" before Julia stopped him, knowing the cause was lost. The Sheriff thought them both to be ridiculous and untrustworthy in the extreme, his disgust more than obvious.

Atkinson, the crown prosecutor was no better help, happy to have a confession and not wishing to cloud any issue before the confession was officially taken and the court ruled on the matter. "I will argue for leniency: shooting as a crime of passion, sudden erratic female emotion and she will likely avoid the noose," was all Atkinson would offer. Poisoning would argue for premeditation and upend his theory of the crime, so he was not about to be consider that idea.

Dr. Buchner managed to get a brief exchange for the four of them with magistrate Crowland in his cramped chambers behind the court room, only by reminding the man he once saved Crowland's daughter's life, back in the day.

"This is very irregular." Crowland said, arms over his chest and face reddened by more than the heat. Tobacco smoke curled about the room. "I take it you are talking to me because you failed with Atkinson and Potter? I am about to take that woman's confession and rule in…" He set his cigar aside and tried to look at his watch again and then put it into his pocked in frustration.

Abner McKenney looked quizzically at the magistrate, then reached into his pocket and brought out a small winding key. "I see your watch has stopped. Why don't you see if you can wind it with my key?" Crowland accepted the small key, inserting it into his watch and turning the mechanism, before uttering thanks and giving it back.

William absently noted Crowland's handsome watch had a chain with a few repaired links. _Probably a family heirloom_ , he thought. William and Julia were given exactly two minutes to speak, the magistrate's scowl creasing more deeply as the time ticked by. Crowland looked very frustrated. "It is too late to hear you on this. It is just like a woman to pin the blame on someone else in a panic and then regret her actions and confess. Miss Durand has confessed in open court to means, motive and opportunity, and I am compelled to act on that. So unless she recants, she will be sent on to Welland as guilty. We will resume in forty minutes, time enough to take her confession in writing."

Expelled back into the court room, Julia expected William to have a frustrated expression on his own face, but instead saw he had that particular faraway look he acquired when he was absorbed by a problem he was trying to solve. Outside of Crowland's chamber, the atmosphere was suddenly awkward between the Toronto couple and their two local companions.

McKenney broke the silence first. "Well, I am going to do a little business while I am in town. I will see back here you here in forty minutes. Mrs. Murdoch, Mr. Murdoch." He tipped his hat and motioned for Doc Buchner to follow.

Julia started to walk out right behind them when William stopped her. "Julia, wait. Let them go."

"What is it William?" Julia was curious at the change in her husband's demeanor.

William made sure they were alone before answering. "What if neither Miss Durand nor Mr. Gideon killed Oliver Morris?"

# # #


	6. Chapter 6

**-Chapter 6-**

"William, what are you thinking?" Julia was allowing herself to be hurried along by the elbow. William steered her to some shade along the side of the building and scanned to make sure they were not overheard. She was feeling disturbed by his actions, and filling up with curiosity

"Julia," William said with a curious look on his face. "What if Abner McKenney killed Oliver Morris? That watch key he offered to Mr. Crowland. I swear it was the same one I spied underneath Mr. Morris' table in his kitchen. I was about to reach for it when we were interrupted by McKenney and Dr. Buchner. He must have dropped it when he was at Morris' house, either while putting poison in the bread dough, but more likely while taking a gun out and shooting. You said no bullet has been compared to Mr. Gideon's rifle and you saw the long gun holstered by McKenney's saddle. He could easily have circled around and pretended to come up to the house, either meeting up with Dr. Buchner or…"

"…Or perhaps Dr. Buckner was in on it as well—supplied the poison?" Julia was thinking out loud now, sensing menace in the men's behaviors. "They could have seen us coming up on the house and decided to investigate—conveniently 'finding' us and thereby having a way to have suspicion thrown our way."

"Precisely." Her husband grimaced. "It explains why they were so intent on befriending us: a pretense to keep us under their control, and why they pointed out all sorts of information about their neighbors." He got his own timepiece out of his trouser pocket. "We have less than thirty minutes to dig into this case. We have a start on means and opportunity; we need to find motive." He looked all around at the vast farmlands surrounding the town. "My guess it will be about the land, but we can't rule out some other interpersonal vendetta. Julia, can you go find the local land office or hall of records? Mr. McKenney and Mr. Buchner both indicated they were neighbors of Morris. Let's find out about any land or debt issues. I am going to telegraph Toronto. Meet me back in the courtroom in half an hour."

She looked intently at William with a chill overtaking her despite the day's heat and her heart rate increasing. "Did we just spend a night in the house of a murderer?"

# # #

William was pacing outside the small municipal building when Julia approached, escorted by Dr. Buchner. He raised his eyebrows at the pair, silently questioning his wife.

"It's all right, William. I met Dr. Buchner in the records room I was searching. We came to an understanding, and found some interesting things." Julia drew the three of them together, and motioned for Buchner to speak first.

"I was thinking about who would benefit from Morris' passing." Buchner frowned. "With his wife and children gone, he could have sold out his land and moved on, but he was a stubborn sort. His people farmed here for generations and there is a family cemetery on the land. I got to wondering what will happened to his property when he died. Turns out he was mortgaged to the hilt which is what I was checking on when your wife came in with a better pair of eyes. His land will all be sold off to pay his debts, with an exception for the family plot."

"Who stands to benefit? Are the debtors that need to be paid?" William asked.

"Yes. But even so—no one is buying large farms around here anymore—it will be sold off by the parcel unless the nearby landowners want to expand. The easiest sell will be to the contiguous farms: mine, Abner's, Mr. Netherby's and even Mr. Crowland's, although the magistrate has been selling around here rather than buying. There are a few other smaller holdings."

William said bluntly. "Dr. Buchner. That means you had motive to dispose of Mr. Morris if you wanted his land."

Julia intervened. "William, I think you will find Dr. Buchner has not much motive, as he has been selling and renting out land, not buying." She looked at the old man and he nodded. "He does not have long to live and does not gain from Mr. Morris demise." She saw that people were filing in for the court proceedings and gestured for the three of them to hurry.

Gaining the wooden steps, William whispered urgently. "Then if I may be somewhat indelicate. What about Abner McKenney?" William said, looking at the other man's expression as he answered.

"I don't know, Mr. Murdoch. Abner was going on about that watch key…" Doc Buchner pointed to McKenney who was already in a seat right up front. "What kind of poison do you think was used?" He turned to Julia for the answer as Magistrate Homer Crowland was having the room called to order and asking for Miss Durand to be brought back out. William and Julia were just sitting down in the second row next to Buchner as the magistrate seated himself, arranging his black robes around him.

William suddenly reached over to grip Abner McKenney's shoulder, hard, causing the other man to turn around. McKenney's grey eyes were round and worried. "Mr. Murdoch, what…?"

"Mr. McKenney. Please tell me right now what business you were doing in the last hour." William said in a low, intense voice.

McKenney looked at Buchner and then at Julia and William. "I thought I found motive for someone to do in Old Morris." His eyes slid automatically to the front of the room. "But I have no proof."

William spoke up. "Mr. McKenney. I think we can prove that someone other than Miss Durand _or_ Mr. Gideon killed Oliver Morris, but I need to know what you know."

"You don't think she did it do you?" McKenney said, still not answering William. "I think we need to wait until we hear her confession."

The constable and the lady in question entered at that very moment which cut off further discussion. All rose and the session came to order. In a small, tearful voice, Renée Durand identified herself, and began her statement to the court, acknowledging that she was making her statement freely and with the awareness she was circumventing an arraignment and a trial by doing so. She reiterated that she came in as usual in the early hours of Wednesday morning, before her employer was awake, to sweep, clean and prepare breakfast. She was upset, and her crying woke Mr. Morris up. She said he mocked her and told her it was he who drove her lover, James Gideon, to break things off and leave her. She became enraged, then shot and killed Oliver Morris with Gideon's old gun. She laid the weapon down and walked away through the fields back to her lodgings. At this, she broke down into heaving sobs, crying so violently that she was unable to go on.

William took the break as an opportunity to get McKenney's attention again. "What did you find?" William insisted the man answer. "Be quick about it; Miss Durand will be back to her confession any minute." When McKenney did not speak, William tried again. "Mr. McKenney. What about that watch key? I thought it was yours."

Abner McKenney looked up, startled. "No." He brought out his own watch to show. "Mine winds by the stem. Crowland has his grandfather's watch, and needs a key. _This_ key I think…"

"Putting him in the house with Oliver Morris, _after_ Miss Durand cleaned on Wednesday morning. I noticed there was no dirt or dust anywhere," William stated rapidly. "I was reaching for that piece of brass when you came in and stopped me." He paused. "For a moment I thought _you_ killed Morris," he smiled tightly, "with or without the help of Dr. Buchner." McKenney's eyes snapped open wider in unpleasant surprise.

Dr. Buchner while merely snorted and leaned in. "We have to stop this confession, Abner. Do you know why would Homer would do such a thing?"

Julia asked. "What is the motive you uncovered?"

McKenney brought out a paper from his jacket pocket and held it tightly, before turning it over to William. "Mr. Murdoch. This is what I found."

William scanned the page. "This indicates Mr. Morris' wife held title to land east of Grimsby." He looked up, with a sharp look on his face. "Land in Grimsby. Gentlemen, there is your true motive." William said. "I received one piece of information from an inquiry I made in Toronto about all the principles in this case. That is an area that Mr. Crowland is buying up property; he is selling here but buying t _here_."

McKenney had an anguished rasp to his voice. "If Homer Crowland wanted or needed that land, there was no amount of money in the world would get Morris to part with it."

Doc Buchner nodded in agreement with this. "You see, Old Morris and Crowland go way back. Had a business deal go sour in, oh, let me see, must have been '65 or there-abouts. Oh, they were civil as neighbors, alright, but Crowland is harder man in business than even Morris was. Morris thought he got cheated; would never do a lick of business with Crowland ever since." Doc added.

Doc Buchner's face was sad and distressed. He ran a hand through his hair distractedly. "But what could be so important about _that_ land to kill over? It is beyond me." All three of the men appeared to be at a loss, contemplating the vagaries of human nature, when Julia interrupted the silence.

"Wine! Gentlemen the answer is _wine_." Julia said urgently. "That land would be about 43 degrees North, next to the lake, good soils and fine climate for good wine. There are not that many places in the world with the correct conditions—any land with those characteristics would be valuable."

William mentally assembled the map features about which he was so fascinated, overlaying each data set, his face slowly changing as the facts slid into place. "Well done, Julia!" he praised.

She smiled demurely. "I just don't drink the beverage, I actually know something about wine regions and how the composition of the land affects the taste of the wine. It is called _terroir_ , and increases the value of the grapes planted there and the wine produced. This is especially important since the European grape vine blight of the last forty years or so. It is caused by grape phylloxera or _Daktulosphaira vitifoliae._ Wine grapes are very particular about where and how they grow; since the blight hit France, in particular, other countries are trying their hand at wine. The profits could be enormous if someone had the right land. Gentlemen, I believe we have a very strong case with the evidence you uncovered." She turned to William. "We cannot let this woman sacrifice for her lover, when it may well be neither has done anything wrong. Mr. Gideon and Miss Durand each may have thought the other took revenge on Oliver Morris for fouling their relationship, and protecting each other fits best with their behaviors." Julia felt a particularly strong affinity for this couple she did not know, aware it was because of her own history with William. She saw in his face he had similar instincts.

"I think we need to interrupt this proceeding as well," William told them.

"Are we in agreement then?" Abner McKenney asked of his three companions, receiving 'yes' all around. "Mr. Murdoch. What shall we do?"

William looked down, gathering his thoughts. "We cannot let her finish her confession. However, both you gentlemen have made it clear that as outsiders my wife and I will not be regarded favourably." He brushed off his trousers and straightened up, wishing he had on his good suit. "On the other hand, that also means you will not have to be the one accusing your own neighbor." The sheriff came over to glare at William, hissing at him to be silent.

William saw that McKenney and Buchner had considered the ramifications of accusing not merely their neighbour, but the town magistrate, of murder. Indecision warred briefly within William because it felt as if he would be abdicating his duty by not intervening. He turned to Julia to help him make the decision. She reached for his hand, letting him know she would support whatever he decided to do. He exhaled and nodded to McKenney.

Miss Durand was composed again and rose to finish her statement, the room becoming quieter so that everyone could hear what she was going to say to seal her fate. Before she could utter her next words, William abruptly stood. "My name is Detective William Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary." He said loudly and clearly. "I am aware that I have no jurisdiction in your town, but I am sworn to uphold the law. I object to this confession on the grounds that it is a lie. It would therefore be a miscarriage of justice to allow a false confession." Immediately the whole room subsided into a second of shocked silence, followed by a flood of angry voices.

The sheriff came over to take William by the arm and put him back in his seat, looking infuriated at him, before turning his gaze from McKenney to Buchner to Julia and back again. McKenney nodded at Sheriff Potter, who blinked and then relaxed his grip on William slightly, nodding back to McKenney in return with a guarded but quizzical expression.

The magistrate was half out of his chair, ordering the sheriff to remove William for disrupting the proceedings. Slowly Abner McKenney rose and turned around, asking for attention from his neighbours; equally slowly the bedlam ceased. "I think we should listen to what Mr. Murdoch has to say. And the best place to do that is where we all can hear him out." He stood there quietly, asking for respect, which got him more attention than the magistrate who was blustering away behind his bench.

Sheriff Potter was caught between Crowland and the other people in his community, and saw where the balance was. He let William go as McKenney sat back down, but stood right next to them, confusion and frustration plain on his face. Zebe Atkinson was also attentive with Miss Durand quietly sobbing again.

"What are you on about, Detective Murdoch? This is not your case." Asked Mr. Atkinson. "What miscarriage of justice?"

William pitched his voice so everyone could hear. "This is not only about love, but it is about greed. Two people, a man and woman, were willing to sacrifice themselves for each other, each believing the other did the deed in killing Oliver Morris. Neither is guilty of the crime, only in losing faith in each other." Renée Durand began to sob louder.

William continued. "At first you thought I shot Mr. Morris, but it was the wrong kind of gun and there was no motive. Next you thought Mr. Gideon might have done so, but his story did not hold together and it was all circumstantial. Then you thought that Miss Durand killed Morris—there was a confession with motive and means, but the opportunity for shooting him was weak."

There was a rustle of dissatisfaction mixed with agreement in the room. When he had everyone's attention again, William announced. "I have information that proves Oliver Morris was not killed by anyone shooting him."

People in the room grumbled louder, and both the sheriff and prosecutor looked hard again at Miss Durand. Crowland's face had gone from red to deathly white. He sat like his namesake—a black crow with back wings formed by his magisterial robes, head bobbing back and forth from prosecutor to sheriff to William. His voice was hollow when he spoke. "You have no standing in the court. And nothing but wild speculation, speculation you have been trying to sell to the court, the sheriff and the prosecutor with no luck, so you have changed your story to this ridiculous tale, no doubt egged on by your busy-body wife. I will not hear this and we will continue as before. Sheriff Potter, remove this man so we can call the room to order."

All eyes turned to the sheriff. Potter's gaze wavered between the magistrate and Abner McKenney, then William. He spoke to Crowland directly, but really his message was meant for the room. Potter found his voice. "Actually, I want to hear what Detective Murdoch he has to say."

The room's attitude remained skeptical but there was a perceptual change. William cleared his throat. "Mr. Morris was not shot to death by Miss Durand. There may have been a lover's quarrel between her and Mr. Gideon, but neither of them killed Mr. Morris with that old rifle. He was already dead when the bullet hit him." Gasps were heard in the room, the largest from Miss Durand herself.

Julia rose next to William. "My name is Dr. Julia Ogden and I was Chief Coroner for the City of Toronto and I am currently Acting Chief Coroner. As such I am very familiar with investigating causes of death." She spoke directly and confidently, gathering her audience. She saw a few people nod their heads in recognition of her name, and hoped it boded well. "An autopsy will remove the bullet and then testing can tell us exactly which weapon the bullet was fired from. However even a very brief examination of Mr. Morris reveals he was dead before he was shot as there was no bleeding."

"Then what killed him?" "Why shoot a dead man?" Variations of this were repeated by several in attendance.

Julia answered. "In my professional opinion, an autopsy will also reveal he was poisoned." That caused the room to buzz in consternation as she sat back down.

Mr. Atkinson interrupted the commotion and pointed back at Miss Durand. "Poison is a woman's weapon after all. If she did not shoot him perhaps she poisoned him then?"

"Then why confess to shooting him?" William asked reasonably of the crowd. "There is someone tied to the crime with motive and by physical evidence. William then turned to look at the magistrate. "That person is you, sir."

"How dare you!" Crowland's colour rose dangerously as he started to shout, asking for the court room to be cleared. The crown prosecutor and sheriff stood and looked about, noticing how calmly William was standing in the midst of the chaos. They called for order, but not to have anyone leave.

Zebe Atkinson asked for attention. "That is outrageous, Mr. Murdoch. What is your proof?"

The magistrate was so wound up he blurted angrily: "Yes! _Detective_ Murdoch. Tell me so I can sue you for slander!" Spittle decorated his mouth as he lunged forward, rattling his watch and chain against the wooden table.

The hair stood up on William's head when he heard that sound. He finally connected it to the noises he and Julia heard when that rider went by them in Morris' field. William stood squarely and confidently. "As you wish, Your Honour," he said. "The first piece of evidence is your watch. It has stopped, has it not? A family heirloom I would imagine, not like a modern timepiece that is stem-wound. Unlike a simple leather fob more suited for manual labour, you have a handsome gentleman's chain, recently repaired, with several accouterments attached. Your watch stopped because you lost the winding key, didn't you sir? And I think you lost it in Mr. Morris' kitchen when you shot his corpse. I believe your watch chain caught in the mechanism or as you brought it up to fire." Mr. Crowland was now stiff and holding on to his chair arms.

Abner McKenney stood up. Everyone was very still, holding their breath, hanging on their neighbor's words. "I found that watch key under Mr. Morris kitchen table. It exactly fits the magistrate's watch." He brought it out of his pocket and handed it to Sheriff Potter who looked at it curiously, and then made eye contact with Atkinson: both recalled that the magistrate's watch was suddenly not working.

"Most telling, I have in my possession motive that implicates someone else other than Miss Durand or Mr. Gideon—someone who actually benefits from Morris' death." William paused for effect. "That is also you, Magistrate Crowland. You wanted the property Morris' wife left him near Grimsby. That's good land for grapes, is it not? Right next to those acres you already own?"

Homer Crowland's face was a mask. "This is preposterous! You have no proof I poisoned anyone. I don't know anything about such things. And you cannot place me anywhere near Morris' house."

At that, Doc Buchner stood, speaking to the room. "Well, I have another thought about that. A full autopsy will prove this one way or another, but I happen to know for a certainly one of Mr. Crowland's daughters nearly died as a child from ingesting poison that she got into on his farm. The same poison that I have on good authority was probably used in this case." Buchner looked over to Julia who gave a solemn, definitive nod.

Buchner motioned for William to keep going. "The last piece of evidence is two witnesses who saw and heard someone travel to Morris' house in the middle of the night, coming from the direction of your property. Witnesses who will claim that they smelled your cigar and heard the very distinctive sound that your watch and chain make."

Now the audience swiveled more intently on the magistrate, having heard the clanging of his watch and chain themselves in that very room.

"And who would that be?" Crowland's voice was weak.

William paused. "My wife and I, sir. I believe you went there to put poison in Mr. Morris' bread, knowing it would throw suspicion on Miss Durand when she unwittingly baked it for him the next morning." Renee Durand swooned upon hearing this.

McKenney took back over. "You might have gotten away with it except you could not leave it alone. You went back the next day to make sure your scheme worked, that Morris was dead, and for some reason decided to obfuscate the whole thing by shooting him. You had it in for Mr. Gideon and Miss Durand but you over did it!"

William sat down next to Julia, while each face in the room turned to the magistrate, whose own eyes showed the whites of extreme distress. Crown prosecutor Atkinson straightened his attire and the papers in front of him, and coughed. "Your Honour. You are still the authority in this court room, lawfully invested in the rights and responsibilities of your office. Speaking for the crown, I am withdrawing Miss Durand's confession and will not move forward with charging her or Mr. Gideon." He looked towards Sheriff Hiram Potter, who was still fingering the key in his hand.

"Hiram?" Crowland whispered, as the sheriff approached the bench and silently asked for the magistrate's watch.

Beyond his ability to resist, Crowland brought his timepiece out the full length of the chain and watched in horror as the sheriff easily slid in the key and gave it a turn.

The sheriff turned to the court, putting his back to the bench, and his friend of forty years. "Miss Durand. You are free to go."

Homer Crowland interjected, summoning all the authority he ever owned. "No. No. I will pronounce that. As you say, I am the magistrate and it is my duty. Miss Durand, you are free to go. Mr. Gideon as well." He stood and steadied himself. "Sheriff Potter, Mr. Atkinson. Please wait here." With that the magistrate made his way with slow dignity to his small chamber behind the court room and softly closed the door. The people who witnessed all of this poured off the benches and out into the street full of chatter and disbelief while Miss Durand made her way out in a daze.

"Is that wise?" William asked Sheriff Potter, gesturing to the closed door. "He is guilty and should be arrested. "

"There is nowhere for him to go. He is still our magistrate and…"

A sharp bang shattered the air. Potter got the door to the back room open first, to find his friend sunk over in his desk chair, a great bloody gap in the side of his head and William's revolver on the floor.

# # #

 **-Epilogue-**

 **Thursday Evening**

Julia claimed a rocking chair on the Inn's veranda, enjoying a lovely cool breeze off Lake Erie, while William read his newspaper in the fading light. She was never so grateful for lack of telephones in rural communities, as well as a general reticence amongst the locals for airing their dirty laundry in public. She and William left Cooks Mills quickly when it became clear there was no point in staying and their presence was a disruption. Mr. Crowland's death would, of course, hit the papers eventually, but Mr. and Mrs. Murdoch would not be available for interviewing and their names would never appear in print associated with the case, if all went according to the town's preferences. _William's_ preference had been to leave the revolver with Sheriff Potter as evidence, making it plain he was in no hurry to have it back, as irrational as that was. Even though they lost a day of travel time, Julia agreed to finish the trip as planned, getting William back to Toronto in time for Sunday Mass.

Now, well-washed and attired for supper, the couple relaxed before entering the Inn's dining room. However, all day, both avoided talking about the magistrate's suicide, with William feeling guilty that it was his weapon, and Julia feeling guilty because if it had not been confiscated it would have never been there for the man to end his life. "William?" she asked, getting a distracted "Mmm?" in return. She tapped his paper. "I can't stop thinking about what happened today. I think it was terribly tragic, almost Shakespearean. So many of his tragedies have suicides—did you ever notice?"

William lowered his paper and readjusted himself in the chair. He has been unsuccessful in engaging his mind with the news, his thoughts also turning to the shocking outcome. "Naboth's Vineyard," he offered.

"What?" Julia didn't catch the reference at first.

He explained. "Naboth's Vineyard. Old Testament: First Kings, twenty-one. According to the story, Naboth owned land King Ahab wanted. The king tried to buy it, and Naboth refused. The King's wife plotted to kill Naboth in order to obtain the land and satisfy the king's greed."

"Doc Buchner did say that the only way Mr. Morris was going to give up that land was over his dead body," Julia felt her outrage flare. "It was all foolish, William. Miss Durand and Mr. Gideon could have talked with each other and easily learned the truth; instead they made conclusions without evidence and then acted upon their false assumptions. Homer Crowland coveted what he could not have, which drove him to homicide, not caring he was involving two additional, innocent people. Oliver Morris could have sold his land at a profit, paid his debts and he would have lived; instead he would not let go out of pride or stubbornness precisely because it was Mr. Crowland who wanted to have the land. That cost him his life." After she said it out loud her gut abruptly clenched: that was uncomfortably close to the core of her history with William.

"Yes." William said simply, noting sudden disquiet on Julia's face. He had a guess Julia was seeing story parallels fitting their own lives, and he wished to dispel her pain. He folded the paper and set it neatly aside, putting his hand over hers. "That is the past; there is nothing for it. _We_ have our future to work toward." He rose and offered her his arm as the waiter came by to show them to their table.

Over an excellent supper Julia and William returned to the issue of forming their family, discoursing as a rather intellectual exercise before bringing it back again to their private feelings. William fiddled with his roll a bit before recognizing he was stalling. "Julia, I have been thinking about what you said to me earlier today…about choosing a child…a son to share our home." He spoke slowly and carefully, still thinking out loud a bit, disturbed that his heart rate was unaccountably rising. "When I imagined what that would be like, I do have a very clear picture of a school-aged lad being there with you and me. I never considered that I was projecting myself as an eight-year-old into that vision of a happy set of parents taking loving care of their son. That was what you were alluding to, was it not? That I am trying somehow to recreate my own childhood?" He looked up to gauge her reaction.

Julia was holding William's face steadily in her gaze. "Yes. We all operate to some extent on unconscious impulses." When his forehead and eyes wrinkled, she moved to reassure him. "It is not pathological, William. But it is always better when these things are uncovered and dealt with directly. You can say it. We will have a _son_ William…or two boys, or a girl and a boy between five and eight years old, just as you and your sister were when your mother died. Does that seem to be what you want?"

William nodded. "If you think that would please you, and suit us both? It is important to me that we do this together, as parents."

"You know, William, the more I think of it, I like the idea of adopting a pair of older siblings, or failing that, two unrelated children… perhaps two who already like each other, so that adoption does not separate them, even as it could separate siblings." Julia said it spontaneously, surprising herself even as she did so.

Her suggestion hit him like a bolt. Making friends in the conventional sense had always been difficult for him, and he recalled rather painful enforced separations from companions in his past. His face lit up as he grabbed her hand in his. "Julia that is a wonderful idea! Two friends taking in two other friends…" Even if he did not put a label on it, Julia was his more than wife or lover, she was his best friend, and it occurred to him that it was the mutual caring that created family, not the law or genetics.

Julia wondered if William still had any lingering doubts about her commitment to the two of them becoming parents, so she asked him outright.

He did not answer right away, wanting to be honest. "Julia," he told her. "I think you are going to be a wonderful mother, but so much has happened that could impact your feelings on the matter. I just want you to be sure you are ready to move forward… As much for your sake as mine, but especially for the sake of the child. Parenthood becomes a sacrifice you make, not for me, but for the child we bring into our lives." His face was open, questioning. "Family is not all about biology, but we have to be clear on our intentions. If you do this only for me, hide or suppress your true feelings that will be a mistake." He smiled at her in mild embarrassment when she gave him a face. "Yes. I do listen when you lecture on psychology. And, yes, I know: I have been as guilty of that as anyone in the past…"

Julia was initially hurt that William had to ask, but considering their disastrous history, being explicit was an improvement over assumptions and interior monologue. Julia made sure she caught him eye to eye, with her body language forward and steady. "Yes, William. I _do_ want to be a mother, and I understand fully that is more than falling in love with a child and being a caught up in the emotions, and more than an intellectual exercise. You are right: It is true for a time I never really considered motherhood. Well…after I learned I could not have children of my own I think I gave up the idea, sure that flaw in me would preclude a successful marriage, and I never saw myself raising a child on my own—it never occurred to me that was a possibility. I am not even certain I wanted marriage—until I met you, of course, " she teased him fondly, "no matter the twists and turns before getting us wed… I agree that family is important and, for once and for all: I want this not just for you, but genuinely from my own heart as well." She took in a breath and reached over the table to take his hand. "Having Roland was completely revolutionary for me. I _felt_ it William! I swear it was something primitive and instinctual, but I experienced something change in me." Her voice caught briefly and she coughed. "That is why I know I want this, as much as you do."

William nodded, accepting her promise and felt a great contentment solidify within him. He pulled her hands to his lips to kiss, and fixed his eyes on her face, searching for confirmation.

"So, have we really agreed on the number of children and the age-range?" he asked.

She could see he was pleased, and it warmed her heart that he was already coming up with plans for their education and care.

"….And of course school will be important. I was wondering if you approve of public schooling? It seems we could be excellent teachers ourselves to supplement their education. We certainly own enough reference works and I can make the library in our home into a classroom affair." William went along for several minutes before Julia pointed out that not all five to eight year olds are capable of advanced concepts in chemistry and physics.

"William. What if one of them wants to become an artist?" He blinked at that before smiling wryly at his witlessness.

"Of course. A child must be guided, but with the grain, so to speak, not against it. You and I know that all too well from personal experience to make that mistake." He furrowed his brow. "I wonder if one housekeeper will be enough? What would you say to hiring a student from the Normal School? Someone like Miss Birdy Carillon? You remember her, don't you?" He liked the young woman and thought it might be a satisfactory solution all around. When Julia looked expectantly at him, he was slightly nervous. "What is it?"

"There is nothing more to say," she answered. "I just think we finally decided, and I makes me very happy and eager to get started."

"As am I." Their meal was cleared and the table bare. Looking around William noticed they were the last diners still seated. "Julia, I am tired and our bed is calling. Shall we?" He took her hand and smiled crookedly, banishing all doubts. He walked her out of the dining room, but instead to the stairs that led up to the rooms, he opened the screen door and walked her out on the veranda again, down the steps and onto the broad lawn.

"William, are we taking a walk? Or going star gazing again?" She said the last part as if it was a euphemism for something _else_ , while playing with his suspenders for a moment. Then she ran a finger down his chest to spark some interest.

"Oh, we are not staying at the Inn tonight," he said, in a voice that clearly indicated some sort of intrigue was afoot.

"So where are we going…?" She stopped when a tiny house appeared at the end of the path, door and windows lit from within by lamps. "Oh, William…!"

He smiled back at her, pleased with himself for arranging a successful surprise. "I had our belongings moved to this cottage while we were at dinner. It barely holds a bed, but it is very, _private._ "

"It's wonderful, and quite romantic for two lovers." She could not hold back from hugging and kissing him with eagerness. After he put her back down, she took his arm again, brushing against him as they walked. "William," she asked, "speaking of lovers…After everything that happened, do you think Miss Durand and Mr. Gideon will be able to resume their romance?"

He stopped again and brought her to face him, placing a soft kiss on her lips that built in intensity between them, stirring passionate delight in him and an answering desire in her. He paused to answer, pleased that Julia's face had lost its slight unease and became flushed and dreamy. "We did."

 **-The End-**

 **# # #**

 **A/N: Dear Reader: thanks for reading—hope you enjoyed it. Here's the unwritten contract between writer and reader: I write. You read and then** _ **You**_ **write— Review what you liked, what you didn't, speculations, story suggestions, anything at all. Don't be shy. This causes me (and my guess is the other writers) to write more when you review. Try it. It took me a long time before I was comfortable writing feedback or a review but it got easier the more I did so. I so very much appreciate it when you do- rg**

 **Melville Davisson Post (1916) published "Naboth's Vineyard" in the** _ **Illustrated Sunday Magazine**_ **June 4, 1916 (Or maybe he got the idea for** _ **his**_ **story from one of William's cases?...** _ **Stranger things have happened. )**_


End file.
